


Morning Star

by Angel_Bazethiel



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Kidnapped Q, M/M, Q and Vesper are twins, SPECTRE Fix-It, a gratuitous use of Celestial bodies as a metaphor, a gratuitous use of Science as a metaphor, small backstory for both Q and Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 19:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15493209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Bazethiel/pseuds/Angel_Bazethiel
Summary: “You have an awfully common-named soulmate. This way he could find you easily.”“By naming meSatan, dad?”“We didn’t name you after the fallen angel, you foolish boy. Your mum wanted you and your sister to match and so both of you are named after the star gods.”





	Morning Star

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I'm really not new to the fandom, but I'm new to writing for it. Actually, I'm new to writing altogether. This thing wasn't supposed to be my first work. I don't know what happened. It just blew up to my face and then bam it's done. It was supposed to be my [Merlin-Bond-Sherlock ultimate crossover](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1165982) that was going to christen me to AO3. But it is what it is, I guess.
> 
> Seriously though, this was actually meant to be a _joke._ A 5k-6k joke. I don't know where the other 21k came from.
> 
> (( **TW** I don't know if I should warn you, but there's a part where Q hallucinates and faces his demons. Our mind is a dark place, and Q's subconscious has some nasty things to say about Q.))

James believed that he doesn’t have a soulmate until he is thirteen.

Having a soulmate means that there is someone out there in the world that is perfect for you. It means that someone is tied to you by some destiny. They could be the person to drastically change your life or they could be someone that will always be there by your side.

They come in different kinds of love, not just romantic. Sure, most of soulmate relationships are, but a soulmate can be a childhood friend that you will grow old together with. Or a brother that is willing to lay down all his life and time for you. Or a daughter whose laughter you would cherish waking up to every morning until comes the day she finds _her_ soulmate.

Though James doesn’t quite understand other kinds of love at a young age. So he gets sad when he learns that his friends have soulmate inscriptions when he does not. He stares longingly at the _Mark_ s or the _Jane_ s that his playmates have. He envies those who gets paired easily and immediately, exchanging shy, doe-eyed glances.

He wants a fairytale story, too.

Some, but not all, of the people have soulmates. James doesn’t know the exact statistics, but he knows that it’s uncommon to not have a soulmate. And he thinks that the universe is being unfair and cruel to those who have bare, unmarked skin. _Why can’t they have their perfect someone?_

“Oh, darling. You can’t let some tattoo on your skin dictate who’s perfect for you or not.” His mother tells him one night when the loneliness becomes unbearable and he cries to her lap.

“If you think they’re perfect enough for you, then _they are. I_ don’t have a mark myself. And yet, your father and I found each other and the Heavens gifted us the most amazing, beautiful baby boy. We may haven’t been tied together for some grand scheme, but we were meant to be together, to have Skyfall, to _have you._ ”

His mother runs her fingers through his hair until he stops crying. It isn’t the long after as he is comforted by her words. He thinks that not having a soulmate isn’t so bad. He has his parents to love him unconditionally. He doesn’t need a faceless name to be happy.

But the universe _is_ unfair and cruel.

He flees to a tunnel under his family’s estate when he hears the news of his parents’ death. He doesn’t mind the cold and darkness that surrounds him, all he feels is hate. He hates his parents for being careless while climbing. He hates them for being on the trip in the first place. He hates them for leaving him all alone in the world.

And as he cries his eyes out, a miracle happens.

He feels the warmth enveloping his being before he sees his chest glow through the thin shirt he is wearing. He stops for a moment, stunned, and then he rushes towards his home. He grabs the nearest mirror he could find and rips the buttons off his shirt.

He stares in amazement as the warm feeling lasts a few more moments and the warm glow settles on his chest. It slowly fades into an etching, a name that says that he’ll never be alone again once he found them. He sees the name in a faint golden colour: Lucifer.

He lets out a wet laugh, feeling a little lighter. _I have a soulmate._

And James doesn’t even care that his soulmate is named after the Devil.

 

\--

 

Luke has always hated his name.

So he always introduced himself in a nickname because the other kids are idiots that have premature judgments over people who literally is called a demon. He already doesn’t fit in as he advances rapidly through his levels, he doesn’t need his name to add to the bullies’ arsenal of mockery.

He complains to his father one time and he just scoffs and says, “You have an awfully common-named soulmate. This way he could find you easily.”

“By naming me _Satan_ , dad?”

“We didn’t name you after the fallen angel, you foolish boy. Your mum wanted you and your sister to match and so both of you are named after the star gods.”

 _Yes well at least_ Vesper _is fine,_ Luke thinks as he pouts to his father. _A little weird but it wouldn’t give me a hard time at school._ He couldn’t hate him for indulging his mother’s wish though, especially when she died at childbirth. But really, was it hard to choose another pair of names? Maybe Apollo and Artemis?

He decides then that he hates the _James_ that is over his heart. It’s the reason why his father gave him an unorthodox name. He also decides that he hates his twin sister as well. Why didn’t _she_ have the stupid name, anyway?

But of course one half could never truly hate the other, may it be by soul or by blood. Especially when a drunk driver crashes through a sidewalk, killing the only parent he has left. He mourns for his father’s death, but he never became alone. He knows that Vesper would take care of him and he promises that he would also take care of her. He knows she would always be for him, through thick and thin.

He also knows that whoever his James is, he would be there for him, too.

Or at least, that’s what Luke hopes for. Isn’t that the whole point of soulmates?

 

\--

 

What’s the point of having a soulmate when you don’t end up meeting them?

James thinks that knowing he has a soulmate is as bad as thinking he doesn’t have one. With the relief and happiness, there’s a constant ghost of an ache for someone. He yearns for the companionship and intimacy a soulmate can give him. He wants the comfort of loving arms wrapped around his body. He wants the fiery passion of searing lips.

And _yes,_ he knows his soulmate could still be a babe somewhere far away. He can’t have those with them, not yet anyway. And well, he’s a teenager who has hormones going haywire, so he couldn’t help it. He explores. He learns. And he finds out that he’s quite good at this.

He tries to wait for Lucifer, but he’s nowhere. He tells himself that it’s not cheating; how can you cheat on someone you haven’t even met? He goes to have some fun. Even at the expense of him getting into trouble. He associates himself with the wrong people, violates a lot of rules, and gives everyone who tries to stop him a hard time.

By the time he finishes at Fettes, he still hasn’t met them.

He’s starting to lose himself. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be his purpose. He attended the schools _his parents_ would have wanted for him. He doesn’t know what _he_ actually wants to do.

Without thinking, he attends the Britannia Royal Naval College. He excels in all areas of training. He finds that he finally enjoys what he’s doing. And even if he graduates only with barely passable remarks, due to his numerous demerits because of his lack of respect for authority, he has become truly proud of himself.

He conducts his military service and sees himself rise through the ranks. James makes a name for himself. He soon becomes Commander Bond. He gets more training in different facets of military and stirs the attention of the British Secret Service. He gets recruited and, without hesitation, he accepts. As per his time in service, he rises through the ranks easily.

Somewhere along the way, he meets Alec Trevelyan and he found a best friend in him. Together, they are a force to be reckoned with. They take down syndicates, crime rings, and evil overlords. And if an explosion or two result from their mission, well that’s just them having fun.

He’s thirty-eight now, and he still hasn’t seen even a hair of Lucifer.

He does his two-kill requirement and the newly promoted M gives him the double-oh status. And now he is reduced to a number and James forgets about the name in his chest that is covered up for his next mission.

He’s not _James_ Bond when he’s in the field. He’s 007, ruthless killer and apathetic womanizer. And sometimes he fears that he would lose himself _completely_ ; that he would lose James and Lucifer would also lose James. _Maybe it’s for the best,_ James thinks.

Soulmates are a disadvantage, a liability. He drowns himself with alcohol and married women’s scents to keep him from thinking about his soulmate. To keep the pretence of not having a soulmate.

But the feeling is still there, that longing feeling.

And he can’t help but wonder what was his soulmate have been doing for the last twenty-five years.

 

\--

 

Luke and his sister are _very_ clever.

They both share the affinity with mathematics and complex systems. But the two have chosen different paths to do with it. Whereas Vesper chooses banking, the analysis of stocks and economy, Luke chooses computer science.

And he never felt so much pride of his name as he brings hell in the cyber world.

He starts with small projects. He steals money, not a lot but just enough to get by, from multiple bank accounts. He steals a few hundred that won’t be missed. _They are corrupt pigs that have too much anyways_ , Luke justifies to himself.

He gives most of the stolen money to charity and then steals some more.

People start to seek him out, so he muses that he needs a name if he were to negotiate with them. After all, his night job is not exactly legal. One that he can’t stop doing, he needs the thrill of the hack, the delight whenever he gets through a supposedly strong firewall. So he picks a name.

He sticks with Michael. He chooses it after the angel that struck his namesake down to Earth. Michael defeated Lucifer. Michael was better than Lucifer. And he promises himself that he would be better than who he was yesterday. He would be better tomorrow than who he is today. _He will never stop rising_.

And he promises that he will never let himself fall.

The cyber community later dubs him The Archangel because of the name. He didn’t really need another nickname, but if he were being honest, it feels more of a title than anything. So he bears it with a bit of arrogance as he hacks into the CIA servers and cleans what little information the agency has on him.

He smiles to himself and slides down the headboard of his bed, letting his head fall on his pillow. He looks at the clock and sees it is just half-past six in the morning. He thinks on whether he should go back to sleep. That thought, however, is interrupted by his sister calling.

He answers the call and before he gets a word in, his sister says “I hope you were not just toppling governments when I called, Lucy.”

“Nothing to harm England, I swear. And don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want. Anyways, I’d like to remind you that you’re meeting me for breakfast in an hour. So don’t you dare go back to sleep. I know if you did, I wouldn’t be able to wake you until noon. But I’m leaving for Montenegro at ten and I need to see you before I go.”

“Why do you insist on mothering me? Can’t you do it over the phone? Why do you need to give me reminders, which I really don’t need since I’m a grown man, in person?”

“Because despite being the same age of twenty-five, I feel like we’re twenty years apart with you acting like a five-year-old. And also because I would be gone for at least a week. I’m going to miss you.”

He smiles as he replies, “Alright. I’ll see you later.”

Luke tries to be exasperated and fails. Even if his sister and he went to their separate ways, they still find time to be together. When Vesper found her soulmate, their relationship never got between the siblings. He loves his sister and he knows his sister loves him.

He’s happy. He’s content. He wishes for nothing but for his soulmate to feel the same. He hopes James is happy, too, despite not finding each other yet. And he doesn’t admit to himself that he has one more wish because he doesn’t really want to be selfish, but he wishes.

He wishes that they would meet soon.

He really can’t wait to introduce Vesper to James, to introduce the one he loves to the one he inevitably _will_ love.

 

\--

 

When James meets Vesper, he feels guilt for the first time.

In James’ profession, guilt is a luxury that an agent cannot afford. Guilt gets you killed, your hesitation before squeezing the trigger, the moments you let pass to mourn. Guilt holds you back.

And guilt is the only thing that keeps Vesper from James at arms-length. James has fucked a lot of people, he uses sex to get the job done. But this thing with Vesper, if left uncontained, could go deeper than his usual on-mission conquests. And with that thought, James feels guilty for his soulmate.

A rather unnecessary feeling really.

Since he tries so hard to forget about the person that the universe deem perfect for him. Now, looking at the woman across the table, he thinks that maybe. _Maybe the universe got it wrong._ Because it feels like _she’s the one_. He feels the pull to the woman who calls herself Vesper.

The evening star. He finds it ironic that he falls for her since his soulmate is the morning star.

And yet he feels her gravity latch on him and he cannot escape. He thinks he doesn’t want to escape. He thinks he’s too far gone. So he lets go of his guilt and lets himself fall without resistance. He lets go of Lucifer. If they really were meant to be, then their time will come.

But right now? Right now there’s a beautiful, clever woman who managed to see right through his mask just after a few minutes with him.

Vesper gets a message from Mathis and the mission goes downhill. But they manage. Vesper and James make it through. Just another indication that they are perfect for each other. _See, universe?_ He wants to scream at the top of his lungs, _we make our own destiny. I will love whomever I choose._

With Mathis detained and Le Chiffre dead, James is happy. James is content. He bears his soul – or at least what’s left of it –  to Vesper, regardless if she were his soulmate or not. He opens up and gives everything that he can to her.

He tells her he loves her.

He decides he would retire for her.

Vesper shines brightly in the cruel dark world, even brighter when he looks at her. _It feels like being reborn_ , she says. It indeed looks like it, a burst of light and a warm pulse. The birth of a star, over and over again. So he keeps on looking as he does, without the fear of going blind to her light.

It’s only so long before he gets burned.

James is tracing the name on Vesper’s right thigh when he asks, “Was he the one you lost?”

Vesper looks at him with sad longing eyes. “Yes,” she says.

James looks at the glaring _Yusef_. They haven’t breached the subject of soulmates, yet. And the cover of his own inscription still hasn’t faded. It was made to last for at most three months and he never had the heart to scrub it off. He knows it’s stupid to let Vesper think he doesn’t have a soulmate, to let lies and deception seep in the foundations of their relationships.

 _Tomorrow,_ he thinks. _I’ll tell her about Lucifer tomorrow._

Instead, he says, “Let’s go on a vacation, float around the world.”

“Let’s. Only for a month though. I still have my job and I need it to keep food on our table. You could be my housewife.”

The spark in her eyes is back and he can’t help but kiss her again. They don’t get too far as she insists that she needs to the bank. And then he realizes something.

“You stopped wearing the necklace.”

“Yeah. It was time.”

“Time enough to get over someone?”

“To realize sometimes you can forget the past.”

James is overjoyed. Vesper understands and feels the same way for him as he does for her. Vesper is also willing to defy fate. Vesper is willing to forget her soulmate for James. Vesper loves him.

_Vesper is a lying bitch._

And yet, James still tries to save her. James rattles the doors of the elevator as the water around them reaches their chests. He needs to save her, to keep her alive, to shake her and ask her _why_. He needs her. He needs her. He needs her. They could get through this betrayal. They may not be soulmates but he would still love her, he would have forgiven her.

If she tells him that she loves him one more time, he would have believed her. If she explains herself, holds on to _them_ then he would have taken her back.

But she locks the doors on the elevator and let herself drown. She’d rather die than to face James. She didn’t believe in them. Maybe she never did. If she did, then she should have let him help. She should have told him, asked for him. She should have let him protect her. She should have let him save her.

And now she’s dead. And James thinks that some part of him dies with her.

M calls later that day. She tells him about Vesper’s boyfriend. How they were very much in love. She tells him that the idiot got himself kidnapped by the organization behind Le Chiffre and Vesper was blackmailed into submission. It is how he grows more hatred towards soul bonds. Soulmates can make you do stupid, reckless things. _Soulmates can get you killed._

She asks him if he needs more time and James looks on the horizon. It was twilight then with the first stars starting to come out. The evening star twinkles as if it is mocking him.

“Why should I need more time? The job’s done and the bitch is dead.”

He can’t trust anyone anymore. So he promises himself that he would never let anyone get as close to him as Vesper did, not even Lucifer. _Especially Lucifer_.

From this moment on, his soulmate is dead.

And the past nine days becomes nothing to him.

 

\--

 

It had been eleven days since Luke heard from his sister.

Well, she did say that she was going on holiday for a month with someone she met on her ‘business trip.’ She also says that she may be falling in love with the guy and that she wants to be with him. He doesn’t fault her into wanting a relationship with someone that isn’t her soulmate. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Despite being her soulmate, Yusef keeps on disappearing. If it were up to Luke, Yusef would have been gone from his sister’s life. What they have is a toxic relationship and Luke wants his sister to rid of him and be happy. And if Vesper is found happiness with the man-from-the-business-trip, then Luke was glad.

But still, it was more than a week and no word from her.

Luke may say that his sister’s weekly check up on him is annoying, but those check-ups also tell him that Vesper is safe. And when a week goes by without his sister pestering him with a _remember to eat_ or a _remember to wash the dishes, you pig,_ well, it’s a little out of character.

Maybe she was just having a little too much fun and she forgot about him. He tells himself that that thought doesn’t pain him because that’s just absurd. He doesn’t need her to take care of him and he of her. They are two adults and they could get by without worrying about each other all the time.

 _I’ll give her another week,_ he tells himself. _If she doesn’t contact me by then, I’ll come searching._

There’s still nothing.

So he does what he does best and cyber investigates. He logs in to Vesper’s email and finds the one about her business trip. He’s a bit shocked to see that the treasury actually lends one of their employees to MI6.

 _Interesting_. So his sister was playing spy? That’s exciting.

He digs a little deeper and soon he’s spiralling down the rabbit hole that is Le Chiffre, Casino Royale, and Agent 007. He can’t shake off the foreboding feeling as he reads on and once he reaches the end, it feels like his heart had stopped.

His sister is dead.

_What the fuck._

Spots appear in his vision and he starts to get dizzy. He closes his laptop and he runs to the bathroom. He lets out a mouthful of bile – he still hasn’t eaten anything since last night – and tears start to run down his face.

This can’t be true. Vesper is clever, she couldn’t possibly have gotten herself killed. Luke’s mind is running over the litany of _no_ ’s. After what seems like an eternity, he wipes the tears off his face and goes back to the sitting room where he left his laptop. _This isn’t real_ , he tells himself. _And I’m going to prove it._

He hacks the more classified parts of the MI6 servers for more information. He learns of Yusef’s relations with an organized crime. He learns of his capture and Vesper’s consequent involvement. He learns of the organization behind all of it. He learns of the double-oh agent assigned to the case.

He is half-way through his third bottle of vodka and his pack of cigarettes is empty when he finally concludes that _yes, my sister_ is _dead._

His denial turns to anger and he looks for the email address of the head of MI6. And, with the lack of better judgment, he writes M a letter and he asks _why did my sister have to die? Why didn’t you save her? How can you sacrifice someone that isn’t even your employee? I thought your organization was supposed to protect and you let a scared woman die? Tell your goddamned double-oh that he’s such a fucking cock-up and that he’s good for nothing._ He’s _the one that should be dead._

Luke knows he shouldn’t blame MI6, M or 007. If there’s anything that he should blame, it’s Quantum. But he’s drunk and in need of a scapegoat. He’s so angry at them, at the world, at life, and at himself. He wants them to know that, so he sends the email. And before he could erase his traces and set his firewalls up to keep MI6 from poking into his system though, he passes out.

Oh, how can he be so careless?

This is the same carelessness that got his sister killed. If he paid more attention to his sister’s soulmate he could’ve warned his sister. If he did a background check on Yusef then he could’ve found out sooner about his dangerous friends. If he were paying more attention to his sister then he would have noticed that she was doing things that she didn’t want to do. He could have helped her.

Now it was too late.

And Luke hates himself more than ever.

 

\--

 

James Bond doesn’t permit himself to stop to rest, let alone to hate himself for what happened.

He keeps himself busy and throws himself into his work. There’s nothing else he could do but keep moving forward. And he _doesn’t stop_. He finds Mr White soon enough, only to see him gone as soon as he caught him.

But he learns about Quantum and he makes it his personal mission to bring it down. He continues moving.

He even doesn’t stop when he faces more deaths along the way. He lets himself be angry, just for a fleeting moment, but ultimately he wastes no second. Even his suspension doesn’t stop him. He takes it as a chance to move freely, to go about the mission without the restriction of proper channels.

He doesn’t stop until he has brought justice to his pain. He doesn’t stop until he has brought justice to Vesper’s death.

And when he meets Yusef Kabira in Russia, he doesn’t kill him. He wants him to suffer. Death is too good for him. He needs to undergo MI6’s torture. The information they would acquire that could bring down Quantum once and for all just sweetens the deal.

Oh, but how he hates him. He feels disgusted for the man that whores himself for Quantum. This is the man that seduces high-ranking women with valuable connections, making them give up assets as a ransom for his fake kidnappings.

 _They deserve each other,_ Bond thinks. _Vesper and him, both specializing in seduction and deception._

But a small part in him thinks that what he and Vesper had was real. It felt too real. It couldn’t have been just a job. If it was, then she would have asked something to prevent her demise, to contribute to the organization.

_She made me quit MI6._

But she didn’t ask for that either. Bond decided that for himself. _He_ wanted him to get away from this life, not her.

He shakes off the thought and he meets M outside in the cold. She tells him that Greene is dead, the Americans got their heads out of their arses and Leiter gets promoted. Although they both know that even after so much, it still isn’t over.

“Bond. I need you back.”

“I never left.”

And he thinks that he never will leave. Seventeen days ago he would have been scared for his soul. He _had_ been scared that there may be little to no more soul left to save. But there’s no stopping now. He cannot ever turn back from this life ever again.

He lets Vesper’s necklace slip from his pocket to the ground.

Vesper was the one that’s sentimental.

 

\--

 

MI6 hires Luke for some reason. He thinks it’s because of sentimentality.

He wakes up to the sound of someone pounding his door. He panics as he remembers the events that transpired last night. He knows that MI6 has come for him and they would lock him up for forever. He thinks of the seven-foot drop out his apartment’s window that his ankle would have to endure so he can escape when a muffled voice talks through the door.

“Don’t even think about running, Mr Lynd. We have the building surrounded. Please open the door. We’re just here to talk.”

 _Right. Talk. Is that what they call murder these days? Better get it over with then_ , Luke thinks as he opens the door. Three people stand before him, two men in a suit and tie with earpieces on and one woman in a long coat over a turtle-neck with her head covered by a black hijab. Luke let them inside as he tries to calm down his racing heart.

The woman wrinkles her nose while taking in her surroundings, “Do you always live like this? Your apartment reeks of cigarette smoke.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that there would be assassins visiting me today.”

“We’re hardly assassins, Mr Lynd. I told you, we’re here to talk.”

“Just talk?”

“My name is Aqila Rashid, these are agents Bart and Wilt. We’re here to talk about your sister.”

“She died. What else is there to talk about?”

“Her having a brother, for one. Before last night, Vesper Lynd was an orphan with no next of kin. So imagine the surprise of my boss when she receives an email from someone claiming to be her brother.”

He remembers the day when his sister insisted that no one should know about their relationship. _I work for the government and you’re doing highly dubious work,_ she had said then. _It’s for the best._ That was also the day when Lucifer Lynd stopped existing.

So they’re here because of the email, not because they know that he hacked their servers. He can’t help but feel proud. Even in his drunken state, he manages to get in and out undetected.

“I personally traced the email back to this apartment and I asked to be here. I would like to know why I found no records about you, no papers for this apartment, no birth certificate, no driver’s license. It’s as if you don’t exist Mr Lynd. What are you hiding? Do you work for Quantum?”

“What? No! I just found out about them yesterday.”

“And how did you do that? Have you been in contact with them?”

“If MI6 didn’t know about me, then I reckon they don’t either.” _Because I know my sister will never betray me._ “I don’t think they’ll come to see me any time soon.”

“Then how Mr Lynd?”

“I,” _Alright, the moment of truth,_ “hacked into your servers and got the information I needed about Quantum.”

“You passed through the best firewalls in Britain and some of the best in the world?”

“It wasn’t that hard. Not my best work I must say, with my brain clouded by alcohol.”

“I’m sorry but are you saying that you were playing with our network _drunk_?”

“Yes and I’m quite disappointed now that you say that that’s the best Britain could offer. I mean, even a lowly IT person could force their way to your level 4 security files. _That’s just sad_.”

He can’t shut the fuck up, can he? Not even to save his life. If they weren’t here to kill him before then they are now. He not only admitted on committing a national offence, but he also insulted them. _Great._

But to his surprise, the woman laughs.

“Oh, I like you, kid. How do you fancy a job?”

_What?_

“Aqila, our orders are to find and bring him in. Not to offer him a job.”

“I know. But you don’t meet someone who’s got brains _and_ spunk every day. You’ve seen Q-Branch, most of what we have are jittery nerds who run on caffeine. We need more like him. Hey kid, you got a hacker name?”

_Is this a dream? Or did I die due to alcohol poisoning?_

“I – what?”

“You can tell me your hacker name so I can look you up and see what kind of jobs you do. Call it your resume. That way I can check my judgment on you.”

“And what is that?”

“A confused little kid who needs direction. So how about it?”

“It’s, uhm, what people call me The Archangel but usually I introduce myself as Michael.”

“Impressive. You’re the guy that exposed those paedophiles from the American Senate.”

“How did you – no, I am not admitting nor denying that allegation.”

He remembers that job. The American elections were nearing and someone wanted him to get some dirt on an opposing candidate. He dug too deep and he found out about a sex trade funded by his mark _and_ his employer. He didn’t get any money for that job but at least two sick bastards are in jail and not in some posh office running a state.

“MI6 deals with international affairs so we need to stay up-to-date on international news. We don’t care as long as it doesn’t harm Britain. Off the record, I say that that was a great job.”

“Err, thank you?”

“Wow. The Archangel, ‘He who is like God’ when it comes to cyber networks. The only trace of your work is a human error: people talking about it. I guess you can’t do business if people don’t know what you can do. “

“Yeah, but no one really knows half the things that I’ve done. I have about a dozen more other cyber personas.”

“I think I don’t really need to know all of them. At least not all at once. What I _do_ need to know is if you want the job or not.”

“I don’t even know what the job is.”

“You’ll know more once you accept it.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you do, accept or prison. Totally your call.”

Luke looks into the eyes of the woman. He wants to appear defiant and determined but what he really feels is lost. She _was_ right about him. Now that his sister is dead, he really doesn’t know what to do. Knowing about Quantum isn’t really enough and he isn’t sure if he can take such an organization down on his own. If he accepts he can utilize MI6’s resources. If he accepts, then he can make sure that his sister’s death won’t be in vain.

His eyes say what he wants to say before he speaks.

With unwavering voice, he accepts so he can tear Quantum apart.

 

\--

 

Dismantling Quantum wasn’t as hard as Bond initially thought.

It only took MI6 a year and a half to cut off all operations and to tie almost all loose ends. Quantum is no more, but Mr White is still not accounted for, dead or alive. This frustrates Bond so much but the trail has gone cold and there’s nothing they could do.

“Without his organization, Bond, I hardly think that he would be doing any more damage. I will not waste any more resources to find a man that has grown irrelevant. There are more pressing matters at hand.”

M is right, Bond knows this. So he holds his head high and accepts his new mission to New Delhi.

Four and a half years later and they still aren’t anywhere close to Mr White. By now, Bond’s hurt dulled into phantom pains and he isn’t as bloodthirsty as before. It all feels like a distant memory at the back of his mind. He forgets the sound of her laughter, and how it feels to run his fingers through her hair.

But he still dreams of burning eyes getting doused by murky water from the Venice canal.

No matter how much he buries his memories, his subconscious loves to play that scene when he closes his eyes. So he drinks himself to coma or he exhausts himself so his body won’t have a choice but to sleep deeply for repair.

That’s not the oddest thing that has happened over the years though. No, it was the fact that he seems to frequent Q-Branch whenever he is in London. Sometimes he doesn’t even realise that he was going to Q-Branch until he was already there. It’s as if his feet have a mind of their own and they would carry him to Q-Branch. It’s like whenever you go to a room and you forgot why you were there in the first place. _It just happens_.

It is rather vexing. He wants to go to a bar, not to loiter around jumpy minions who are too scared to tell him off.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, Bond?”

“Nowhere at all, Q. What are you doing?”

“A new exploding pen. There always seem to be new models of pens and I need to modify them constantly! Here give it a try.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Good thing explosions never stop erupting in Q-Branch. Those are the only ones that keep Bond from shooting his foot, literally and figuratively, out of boredom.

“Don’t ever stop making these, Q.”

The Quartermaster may be Bond’s favourite person in MI6. Q is an old man who has a knack for exploding things. He’s also the one that makes their toys. He’s the one in charge of arming the agents’ cars –

 _Oh._ Bond thinks. _Oh no._

He feels something that he hasn’t felt for six years. Something that he hasn’t felt since _her_.

It makes sense. The pull must be the reason for his frequent visits to the Q-Branch. He resists it. He doesn’t want another Vesper. He doesn’t want to go through that again. He holds his ground, but the pull is _so_ strong.

“007, are you alright?”

“Dandy, Q. Excuse me.”

He needs to get away. He needs to get out, out of Q-Branch, _out of the country_. He doesn’t run, but it was close. As quickly as he can, he marches towards M’s office. He barges in without so much as a knock.

“Bond? What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I need a mission.”

“But there are currently no double-oh missions in line.”

“Then give me a regular mission.”

M raises her eyebrow at that and he scowls. He doesn’t need her judgment, he needs to put a large distance between him and whoever is at the other end of the pull. He needs it _now_.

“You don’t usually go for those.”

“I like a change of palette from time to time.”

“Only you Bond would treat your missions like they’re some gourmet food to enjoy.”

“Do you have one or not?”

“If you’re sure, there’s one that’s already assigned to two field agents. But I know they’d be thrilled to have you to show them the ropes, give them some pointers.”

“I’ll take it. What’s the mission?”

“Simply enough, the job is to protect a solid state hard drive until it reaches Mons, Belgium. To be discrete, a few stops to different countries are taken. You’re to join the two agents on their latest stop: Turkey.”

It does sound simple, but he knows that missions never go as planned. Or maybe that’s just his luck. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten involved then the mission wouldn’t have gotten awry.

It goes like this. He and one of the agents are on perimeter watch while the other agent is tasked to stay in their hotel room with the drive. It isn’t that long before Bond hears gunshots over his earpiece. He immediately runs back to the hotel while giving orders to the other agent.

“Circle around the hotel and watch for anyone making their escape. And contact M.”

He reaches their room. His eyes sweep the room for any more threats and he sees the agent on a chair with a bleeding abdomen. M’s voice pipes in his ear and demands if the hard drive is gone. It is, but he needs to stabilize the dying agent first. There’s still the other agent that could pursue the thief. However, M insists. He takes one look at the agent. _Go_ , his eyes seem to say. _The mission comes first._

And so he leaves.

A series of events ends him and the thief atop a train. Bond hears the agent say that she may have a shot. He hears M order to take it.

 _Wait. I can do this. I can get the job done_.

He throws punches as hard as he could. He sees an opening. _There_ , _just a little further. One last kick._ It never lands as he’s thrown back hard, then pain blooms starting on his shoulder.

He falls. _This is it._ He falls a long way down. _This is how I die.  During a bloody delivery_.

He hears the agent speak again before he hits the water.

“Agent down.”

 

\--

 

Being a secret agent fits Luke like a glove. He blends right in Q-Branch.

Not at first though. His coworkers are wary of him since they know that he was supposed to be in a holding cell somewhere in the depths of MI6. The first few days consist of taut tension, side-eye glances, and hissy whispers. Luke doesn’t take it to heart. They’re in a spy agency, trust isn’t thrown around like confetti whenever new meat is introduced. So he accepts their cold attitude.

After all, his current top priority isn’t to please his co-workers.

M tells him that he can help with the Quantum situation if and only if Mrs Rashid – or R, as M calls her, the woman who he insulted and still offered him a job is apparently Q-Branch’s second-in-command to Luke’s horror and embarrassment – is supervising him. He accepts the terms because it’s not really in his place to demand more.

Before she dismisses him he tells her, “I’m sorry for the email, ma’am. I was a bit intoxicated.”

“From what I’ve heard from R, ‘a bit’ is an understatement.”

Luke feels the heat on his cheeks.

“Have you told Agent 007 about it?” _Or about_ me _for that matter._

“No worries, Mr Lynd. I haven’t told 007 that particular statement, so he wouldn’t be out to get you. I haven’t told him about you either and your connection with Ms Lynd. I’m leaving that conversation on your hands, and it’s up to you whether tell him or not.”

“Thank you, M.”

Long story short, he works in the shadows, he gathers intel, which he gives to R, who gives it to the agent they pick for a certain mission, usually 007. And with their combined efforts, they raze Quantum to the ground. The alleged leader still hasn’t been caught but he counts the disarray of the organization as a win.

He skips the last few steps of grief and goes straight to acceptance. He accepts that nothing can ever fill the void in his heart that his sister left. He accepts that seizing Quantum is enough, finding Mr White isn’t worth his efforts. He accepts that he needs to move on.

And he moves on to his next agenda: rising within Q-Branch. He makes nice with his co-workers. He works like the proper temp he is, makes coffee for everyone, and runs on his errands. He gradually grows unto them.

And then, word of his hacker days got out. That ‘gradual’ adjective turned to ‘instantly.’

When they learn that he was – past tense because one of the job’s conditions is giving up his criminal past – The Archangel, they warm up to him too quickly that he needed to check if he is in the right building and on the right time. He, very briefly, thinks that he finally managed to build a time machine and sent himself a few years to the future when he has already earned his coworkers’ trust. Sadly it isn’t the case.

If Luke had known that all he needed to do was brag about his past then he should have done it sooner. Just a week in his Operation Lima – _because they’re a spy agency and he just couldn’t help it_ , he named it after the Lima Syndrome – and some of the minions already follow him around like ducklings that imprinted on him.

It’s kind of sweet, he thinks.

The field agents are a bit harder to please. But once he has proven himself to be capable of handling them, he _is_ clever and quick on his feet, and capable of _handling them_ , he doesn’t take _any shit_ from _anyone_ , the agents take Luke good on their books. It also helps that he’s really good at hacking through various villains’ networks and opens doors for them to escape whenever they land on a tight spot.

The double-oh agents are a different species altogether.

They listen to no one. They do whatever they want. They crush their earpieces just so they can ignore Q-Branch. _Who does that? Can’t they just – oh, I don’t know – turn the bloody things off? Do they think earpieces grow on trees?_

And they destroy every equipment that was designed to save their lives. It doesn’t surprise him that the life-expectancy rate of the double-ohs are short, with them going on like this. They need their high and mighty pedestals to be taken down a notch or two.

So when, by some misfortune, he handles 009, he treats him like how he treats every other agent.

“If you’re trying to get yourself killed then, by all means, go right. But if you want the shortest way possible and be home almost scot-free then I suggest you go left.”

“Left leads to the land-mines if you’ve forgotten.”

“Which I have already disarmed remotely, as I have been _repeatedly_ telling you. Going right leads you to six incoming assailants, a dead-end and a twenty-foot drop. In case _you’ve_ forgotten, 009, your belt encasing the cable you can use to escape that way is currently wrapped around some dead guy’s neck two floors down. So if you want to go right then you could go back down fight whoever gets in your way, grab the belt, go back up, dispose six more people and then jump out the window.

“That’s quite a lot of work don’t you think, 009? Also, can I use this rather unique moment to remind you that Q-Branch isn’t just a toy shop you get your gadgets from and an audience that you have to show-off for. We are your eyes and ears to the things you can’t see nor hear. We aren’t here for your ego, to applaud to your _unnecessary_ stunts. We are here to help and for _fuck’s sake,_ just bloody accept it. Preferably with no questions asked because explaining every possible outcome loses time so can you just _trust me_ when I say that _this is the best way possible_?”

There’s a deafening silence. Luke fears that 009 got killed during his tirade, or worse 009 still foolishly turned right.

One moment passes. Another. And then, he hears a miracle – Q-Branch’s words not his – as 009 affirms with “Understood. Going left.”

Days after that mission, R hands him a headset and says “This is 003. Can you repeat your little speech from last time?”

And then somehow the double-ohs start to _ask_ _him_ to handle their missions, with the exception of 001, 006 and 007. Luke hasn’t had the opportunity to scream their ears off. 001 and 006 are in deep cover in Saudi Arabia and Serbia, respectively. Meanwhile, 007 tunes his earpiece so that he could only receive nearby frequencies.

And there’s also the fact that Luke doesn’t want to interact with 007.

Yes. Luke knows he’s a coward. He’s being irrational. He’s being a child.

But he doesn’t want to meet the last person that saw his sister alive. He doesn’t want to meet the person his sister once admitted she was falling for. He doesn’t want to meet _James_ Bond.

Luke doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to _consider_ 007 as his soulmate. He feels the pull, yes. But he tells himself that that’s because 007 was a close person to his sister so his soul senses something familiar with the agent’s. That’s the reason for the pull. Nothing more.

 _Yeah, keep telling yourself that_.

He doesn’t make the effort to know 007. He keeps himself out of the agent’s way. He hides whenever the agent is in Q-Branch. And somehow after six years working in MI6, their paths never had crossed. _Another proof that he isn’t my soulmate._ If they were meant to be, it should have been impossible for them not to meet.

When news of the agent’s death breaks out, he convinces himself that he doesn’t care.

So why can’t he stop crying?

 

\--

 

James enjoys being dead.

Three months of being carefree, no looking over his shoulder, drinking to his heart’s content, having a different lady every night. Three months of no bitch ordering him around, no bullets wheezing past by him, no bleeding to deaths. He enjoys it and doesn’t want to go back. MI6 would get by without him. They would endure. They would find a replacement, someone younger and faster. He’s done.

He also doesn’t want to go back to the pull. He doesn’t want to follow that faint tug on his soul.

 _It’s better off this way_. Away from it all: from MI6, from commitment, from the pain that both induces. Not that he would pursue a relationship anyways with whose soul is tugging his.

He absent-mindedly traces the name on his chest one morning. The cover it had has completely washed off and he could see again the name he ultimately wishes to disappear. But now that he’s dead he surmises if _this_ is meant to be. He’s meant to be dead and he would meet Lucifer on this beach where he’s currently lying. James would meet him – he supposes that Lucifer is a male name, _what kind of parent names their daughter Lucifer_ – and they would have their happily ever after now. They would meet and nothing in the world will matter anymore besides being with each other.

_I deserve it._

But he knows that’s wrong. It feels wrong. This beach, the loud bar behind him, the woman that’s waiting for him inside, it all feels wrong. _Maybe it’s the place. I should get a move on. Greece looks good at this time of the year._ He decides tomorrow he would sail to Greece, but not before he has that drinking game with the scorpion done.

His plans are ruined as he sees the burning building on the telly. MI6 clearly isn’t ready to be on their own yet. _They need me. I need to go back._

And so he does. He breaks into M’s flat first before officially reporting for duty. He wants to know that she’s alright. The woman, cold-hearted as she is, has been a sort-of mother to him. She fusses over him and he annoys her, the perfect mother-son relationship.

She’s angry at him. He knows he should have reported as soon as he’s able. But he also knows that M treats regret as unprofessional and his supposed death shouldn’t have been emotionally taxing on her. He tries to not feel shame as he looks at M’s accusing eyes. _You’re a little too late_ , they say.

 _But I’m here_ now.

She tells him that he needs to pass tests to get back on duty. She tells him to take them seriously, but he is sure it would be hard considering MI6 treats _him_ a joke.  A relic trying to play a young man’s game. He ignores the feeling and still reports to Tanner first thing in the morning.

Tanner brings him to the new MI6 headquarters. He fills Bond in over what he missed the past few months. He does so while Bond tries to not fail the onslaught of physical examinations. He knows he is not faring well. He gets winded too soon as he runs on the treadmill, his muscles protest as he lifts his body up for the thirty-seventh time, and misses the target by a mile during the shooting test.

And there are the psychological tests. Bond has always hated those. Even more so when the doctor across him mentions Skyfall. _What the hell has that got to do with anything?_ He says done. And he leaves, glaring at the one-way mirror he knows that M is behind of.

He failed. He knows this. He isn’t ready for duty. _This is goddamn frustrating._

With that thought, he pulls out a knife. He carves out the shards embedded on his shoulders. They are from the bullet that the thief in Turkey shot him with. As he gets all of it, he wipes the blood off and plasters himself with a gauze. He puts the shards in a zip-lock bag and gives them to Tanner before he leaves the building.

“Get these analysed. For her eyes only.”

The next day, he gets summoned by M. While waiting outside her door, Bond is approached by a woman, the same agent that shot him off the train. They flirt. He assures her that there are no hard feelings. She tells him that she got grounded indefinitely. He tells her that the field isn’t for anyone. _Save yourself before it’s too late. The field has the habit of not letting anyone escape once you’ve had a taste._

_Don’t choose this life._

James Bond meets Gareth Mallory after M announced that he’s back on active service. Mallory remarks that he’s too old for the job. Mallory implies that he should’ve stayed dead. Mallory says M is sentimental about him. _Mallory doesn’t know anything_. He leaves with an order to Bond, “Don’t cock it up.”

Tanner comes in with the results from last night. They find the name of the thief from Istanbul: Patrice. His task is to go to Shanghai, find out who he works for, then terminate. Bond asks if there is anything else M wants to tell him. _You’re hiding something. You have an inkling to who’s behind the bombing. Tell me. You can trust me._

Of course, she tells him no. And orders him to meet the new Quartermaster for his documentation. _New Quartermaster? Boothroyd’s dead?_ He feels a fleeting bout of sadness. The old man had been a great help to him. And he made the best weapons. It is sad to know that he’s gone.

As he is about to exit the building – the new Quartermaster hasn’t set up shop yet, Tanner tells him to meet the new Q in The National Gallery – he realizes something that makes him stop dead on his tracks to confirm.

Bond doesn’t feel the tug from within MI6 anymore.

_Maybe they died in the explosion. Or resigned._

 

\--

 

Luke’s _unofficial_ title in Q-Branch is S.

Officially he’s the section head of the Cyber Networking and Security, but if he were being honest, he’d say that he’s more of an all-around guy.

The head of Q-Branch, Q, is an old man who prefers to work on Research and Development and to stay in his workshop on days’ end than to roam around the Branch or handle the comms. No, those are R’s job.

R is the one that keeps on floating around and doing the responsibilities of a department head. Don’t get Luke wrong, Q is a genius in weapon making but the man can barely keep standing for more than half an hour. And Q-Branch fears that the man would get a heart attack if he handles the comms.

R is a great woman and she can handle it. But time runs R ragged over the years. So when Luke can’t ignore the sag on R’s shoulders and the dark circles appearing around her eyes, he decides to help her out. It’s the least he could do. This is the woman who found him when he was lost all those years ago. This is the woman who gave him direction. This is the woman who taught him to make an explosive device and a decent angel cake in the same night. This is the woman who got him to move on.

He lost a sister but he found another in R. And he wants to take care of her.

He starts with the small things. Whenever someone asks for R regarding paperwork, he handles it. He checks over the proposal, makes the proper amendments, and polishes it. R would only need to sign them and he spares her a few nights of work.

He handles field agent missions whenever he can. And then, after his 009 fiasco, he handles most of the double-oh missions as well. Now, he and R takes half and half when manning the comms.

He doesn’t realise that he’s taking more responsibilities at first. But when R gets sick one day, she leaves Luke as her proxy and the minions accept the appointment without a hitch.

Then an agent starts to call him S, as a joke.

Luke requested for his name in the official documents to be Michael Shaw since all of his existing papers call him by that name anyway. They work for the British Secret Intelligence, he’s entitled to his little secret.

He introduces himself as _Michael, just Michael._ But the agent insists on calling him S. And then another one does it too. And then another. Even the minions adopt the name. _Maybe I should anoint my own supposed second just so I could call them T and keep the gag running._

But then it stops being a joke. People actually listen to him. His words matter. _When did that happen?_

One day proved he’s worthy of being S. Though it isn’t how he wanted it to happen. He never wanted _this_ to happen.

“Get me R and notify Tanner. Someone is in our system and I need them out _yesterday_.”

He barks out orders to the minions without falter on his voice and his typing. Fingers dance around his keyboard as he looks for the malware that somehow got into their system. The malware is a diversion though. Whoever put it there is currently trying to get M’s access codes so that they could decrypt the stolen hard drive from three months before.

But he leaves that on the hands of his team. They’re on defence while Luke is on offence. He then finds that there was an unauthorized login on a computer inside the building. He grabs a random minion and instructs him to get as many agents he can find and go to M’s office.

He initiates a lock-down on said office so that whoever is in there wouldn’t be able to escape. He launches a worm virus against the culprit’s malware as he sifts through their system for any abnormalities. By the time he gets to the part that controls the gas line, he was too late.

His vision fills with white light and then black.

A few minutes pass before Luke regains consciousness. He covers his face with an arm to keep himself from inhaling smoke. He tells the minions to evacuate the building.

“But, sir, the access codes?”

“It’s too late for that. Go! I’ll stay to fix the system and make sure no more explosions happen. We won’t be able to get back at this wanker if the building collapses on us.”

“If you’re sure, sir.”

“Make sure Q and R get out okay, yeah?”

He doesn’t want to sound like he’s saying goodbye but he does. With swimming vision and ringing ears, he goes to the nearest still-functioning computer. He types until he’s satisfied with the patches he makes. He forgoes the cover on his face in exchange for typing twice the speed. When he’s satisfied with his patchwork, he has already inhaled a lot of smoke. It’s getting harder to breathe. It’s only a matter of time before he passes out.

 _The universe has a stupid sense of humour_. His twin sister died by water. And now he’s going to die by fire. Even with his sister dead, the fates haven’t stopped with their odd parallels. He feels his eyelids go heavy. _At least I could sleep through being burned alive._ He closes his eyes and let the darkness envelop him.

Luke doesn’t die, much to his chagrin.

Instead, he wakes up in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask on. He sits up and soon a gloved hand supports him. He takes two mouthfuls of breaths before getting the mask off. He gives them to the medic by his side. He notices the M and Mr Tanner is standing in front of him. M has a pinched look on her and before he registers what’s happening, M smacks him in the head.

“I highly discourage you from doing that, ma’am. The boy may have a concussion.”

And the medic may be right since Luke’s head rattles after the hit. He feels nauseous.

“I wouldn’t have done it if this boy hadn’t been so stupid.”

“I needed to contain the situation, ma’am. You can’t fault me when I’m doing my job.”

“And if you died with Q and R, then where would Q-Branch be?”

Luke starts at that. He panics, “they didn’t survive?”

“R&D was obliterated, with Q in it. R broke a lot of bones and almost collapsed a lung but she’ll live.”

He takes the news as calmly as he can. Q was a good man. He didn’t deserve this. But grief and anger can come later. Now is a time of action and he needs to be level-headed.

“How long before I can start working again?”

“As soon as we get our new digs. In the meantime, you should go home and take a rest. Take these, too.”

Tanner hands him forms for Transfer of Authority. _Right. We’re going to need a new Q._

“Sure. I’ll make sure Aqila fills these –“

“No need to bother Mrs Rashid, Quartermaster. They’re for you.”

 _What?_ It’s like he was back to his apartment, five years ago, with a massive hangover, being offered a job. The throbbing head and dumbfounded feeling he has now trump what he felt then.

“Tanner and I have already set this matter with R and the former Q, months ago. We were getting ready for Q’s retirement and they both vehemently stated that you’re to be his successor. This kind of retirement wasn’t what we had in mind then, but it is what it is.”

 _Am I ready for this? I was still getting used to_ being S. He wants to be Q, but not _right now._

Luke has had many names. Michael, The Archangel, S, and a bunch of other names he uses whenever they’re convenient. But he never let go of his first name. He never let go of _Lucifer_. At least, _not completely_. As much as he hates it, it’s the only thing that ties him to his family. Sure almost everyone knows him by Michael now, but there are still some of his friends that know him by that name.

Accepting the Quartermaster position would mean that he has to lose all of it. He has to lose his friends since they’re going to be a liability and he will probably have no time for them. And he has to lose whoever has his name tattooed on their skin because he’s going to be privy to national secrets and be in charge of the weaponry of MI6. Their enemies could use his soulmate against him.

Is he ready to give up whatever he has left for a country that already took _too much_?

He glances around. He sees bodies on stretchers, being hauled away to the nearest hospital. He sees men and women hugging each other, crying with relief. He sees the people he was willing to die for just a few moments ago. He decides that he _can_ give up his name, not for the country, but for these people. If he were Quartermaster, then he can make sure that these people are safe – well, as safe as this life permits them to be.

And besides, colleagues can turn to friends. R is proof of that. And he never cared much in finding his _James_.

“I’ll hand the finished papers when I clock in tomorrow. For now, may I ask for a lift home?”

 

\--

 

When James first sees the new Quartermaster, all he can think about is _Vesper, Vesper, Vesper_.

James is sitting in front of a Turner painting as he waits for the new Q. _The Fighting Temeraire tugged to her last Berth to be broken up, 1838_ the golden plaque below it says. Then wild curls and a bulky anorak fills his peripheral vision. A man sits beside him who seems to brighten the room. He feels a tug that made him look. He can’t help but stare for what felt like an eternity. He doesn’t want to but he remembers another star from another life.

The man – a boy, really – has the same sharp features like her. He has the same shade of green eyes as her. He has the same white skin as her. There may be a bit of difference such as his hair is the wrong shade of brown and his jaw is harder than a woman’s, but the resemblance is uncanny.

“It always makes me feel a little melancholy.”

_Bloody hell. He even has the same soft-spoken voice as her._

“A grand old warship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap.”

 _What a pretentious prick._ James sobers up with that comment. His mood sours. _Are all young people this rude? Making jabs on_ strangers’ _ages?_

“The inevitability of time, don’t you think?” the man takes away his gaze from the painting and looks straight at James.

 _Oh. Oh, bloody hell._ James feels the tug get stronger but he fights it. He’s here because of a job. He’s here for the Quartermaster. He’s not here for a bloody dalliance with an art student just because he can feel their soul compatibility. _I need to get out of here before I’m lured in completely by those eyes._

The man looks back at the painting. “What do you see?”

 _This is my chance to leave._ “A bloody big ship. Excuse me.”

But before James could stand up, the man calls James by his double-oh designation and tells him that he’s the new Quartermaster.

 _You have got to be kidding me_.

“Why because I’m not wearing a lab coat?”

_You’re just a bloody kid with spots playing grown-up._

“My complexion is hardly relevant.”

_I hope I could say the same about your competence._

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.”

 _Yes, but that doesn’t guarantee younger people are better with their_ new _unconventional ways._

“I’ll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pyjamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you could do in a year in the field.”

_Intriguing. That’s… quite something. Why do you need me then?_

“Every now and then, a trigger has to be pulled.”

_Or not pulled. And you wouldn’t know how hard a decision that is to make._

Well, at least the kid has the guts to talk back to a double-oh. He’s headstrong and unafraid to speak his mind _, just like her._ So James, _as with her back then_ , gives him a chance and holds out his hand, “Q.”

“007.” They share a handshake and a small smile. The Quartermaster hands him his documentation and passport. He then gives him his equipment which consists of a gun and a radio. Given that they’re on a tight schedule and the former MI6 headquarters, with Q-Branch and their gadgets, in ashes, it was understandable that these are the only pieces Q could provide him. But he cannot help but joke for the sake of getting a response from Q.

“Not exactly Christmas, is it?”

“Were you expecting an exploding pen? We don’t really go in for that anymore.”

James certainly is not disappointed and smirks at that as Q rises up from the bench. The smirk drops from his face and he feels a slight panic. _Don’t leave_ , an unbidden, surprising thought. But the Quartermaster turns to exit the room. After a few steps though, he faces Bond one more time like he doesn’t want to leave either. The Quartermaster musters a small smile, bids him good luck, and says the Q-Branch tagline ‘Please return the equipment in one piece.’ 

James feels warm inside. He feels like he can do anything with just that smile and good luck. He scowls as he thinks that he’s acting like a schoolgirl with a love-at-first-sight moment and _he needs to focus_.

But he permits himself one last full smile as he watches the retreating back of his Quartermaster.

He thinks he likes the new Q quite a bit.

 

\--

 

“007 hates me.”

Q is visiting Aqila in St. Thomas’ Hospital. He goes to see her right after his rendezvous with the double-oh in question. Q was only there to drop-off the agent’s equipment. _How did I fuck that up?_ It had been a roller-coaster of annoyance, shame and _bloody attraction_.

His opening was confident. He wanted to test the waters first before diving in straight to the mission, so he opens with the painting. 007 had been staring at it when he had arrived so he thought it was a good way to start a conversation. But 007 shut him down and his pride couldn’t take it. Then he insulted him, he argued back. And basically, that resulted in the slippery slope that is their conversation.

Or a climb of sexual tension. Q isn’t so sure. _The encounter was so confusing_.

He wants to be proud of how he held himself in front of the agent. He wants to believe that he hadn’t embarrassed himself in front of an assassin that exploits his victim’s weaknesses. He wants to say that he wasn’t hypnotized by the blue of the agent’s eyes and so all his brain-to-mouth filters were suddenly out the window.

It also didn’t help that _their goddamn pull is strong._

It took all of his will to keep himself from doing more touching after their handshake and embarrassing himself further. A feat which he actually failed because he snuck the radio out of its container just so he could have the excuse to hand 007 the bloody thing. And it was small enough that their hands inevitably grazed each other.

_God I swear, was I fucking flirting? Why why why?_

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, love. I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

“Well he doesn’t _hate_ me per se, it went okay. Could’ve gotten better though. I’ve somehow offended him with my first sentence which is ridiculous because I wasn’t even talking about him but the Temeraire. And then he had the audacity to walk out on me. I was just making conversation, no need to be rude.”

“Did you say the thing about a once grand thing being put to retirement?”

“Well, yes. Isn’t that – oh. _Oh._ I guess that makes sense. But I wasn’t implying that _he’s too old_. If I had any objections about him in the field, I would’ve taken it up to _M_. I’m not a passive-aggressive person. It’s a passive-passive _or_ aggressive-aggressive for me, no in between.

“Now that I think about it, that isn’t a better characteristic at all since my aggressive-aggressiveness urged me to brag like a petulant child convincing everyone that he’s all grown up. Oh great if he wasn’t thinking before that I’m some juvenile who can’t do my job before then he definitely does now. How the hell am I to do my job if our best agent _doesn’t take me seriously_? M is going to fire me for this _._ ”

“Now, now, Q. Let’s try to calm down. M won’t fire you just because of a bad impression. And besides, if you feel like James hates you, then I can assure you that he doesn’t. He calls M a bitch, but everyone knows that she’s the person Bond trusts and respects the most. I’m sure his behaviour is because he’s impressed that you’re the youngest person to become Quartermaster.”

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense and sounds utter rubbish.”

“Really? It made sense in my head. Maybe you _are_ too slow to be Q.”

“Oh hush you.”

“So are you here just to moan about 007?”

“I wanted to give you a progress report on our Operation: Rebuilding the Evil Lair, now shortened to OpREL.”

“God, will every branch program be like this from now on?”

“You made me Quartermaster, you abide by my rules. No backsies. Anyway, so almost all of the rats are gone. The walls have been drilled as planned and the minions are currently doing the wirings. Tanner is still begging on our behalf for the new computers. Oh and he says hi and that you’re off-duty for a month.”

“That’s too bad. I had plans for pledge week.”

“Q-Branch isn’t a sorority, R.”

“But it would have been fun and it would ease you right up to your position. It’s a tradition.”

“One that you made up.”

 _This is nice_ Q thinks, _to just joke around and laugh, to forget for a moment the problems they have to face._ If R weren’t in a hospital bed, this scene would’ve been perfect. But of course, the world didn’t stop just because it could ruin Q’s mood. His phone vibrates as it receives a text.

“I need to go. Robbie says the new computers have _finally_ been approved and will be arriving shortly. I need to be there because we’re going to need a new system since the old one was compromised.”

“Right. Hey, did they catch the idiot who let the hacker in?”

“No, killed off in the blast. It seems the hacker didn’t want any loose strings. But we still can’t be sure that there aren’t any more moles. So I’ve been thinking that rather one or two closed loops for the system, why not more? Loops within loops. I could make a _labyrinth_ so that if there were any more of this, they could get lost in our system. Maybe not for forever since I don’t have infinite memory, but at least long enough for us to catch them.”

If Q were honest, he has been working on this kind of system for almost two years as a side project. He just didn’t want to propose it to Q and R until it was spotless. This was to be his failsafe to the failsafe, if a hacker managed to get into the system by passing through the firewalls or, in this case, from within. He can upload the skeleton code as soon as he’s able. He seeks R for approval and he sees that she has a weird expression on her face.

“Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not a bad idea.”

“No, no! I mean, yes, it’s not a bad idea. I was just remembering why Geoffrey and I wanted _you_ to become Quartermaster. You’re going to be great, Q. You’re going to bring MI6 to the future.”

“You flatter me, R. You just wanted to skip the executives’ meetings and dealing with the bureaucratic snobs.”

“That and Laith would go mad if I leave Zia with him for too long. Oh, that reminds me, I have a present for you. I had Laith bring it this morning. I think it’s behind the flowers, it’s the one in brown paper.”

Q rummages around the table with the fruits and flowers from R’s visitors and sees a box covered with a brown wrap. He tears the cover which reveals a Scrabble mug with the letter Q. He gives R an incredulous look as if to say _really?_

“It suits you. It’s Q’ute and it’s Q. Just like k-you (Q).” R giggles like it’s the best joke she had come up ever.

“If that’s supposed to be witty, then you’ve failed.”

“I’m funny. You can’t just accept it.”

Before Q could get a word out, his phone vibrates again. He sighs.

“I really need to go. The minions would riot if they’re left to their own for too long.”

“Alright. Say hi to the children for me. And don’t work yourself to death, okay?”

They say their goodbyes and Q goes back to the new MI6.

It was about three in the morning when he is done connecting everything to where they should be, getting the emergency base code online, and establishing a secure connection to all of the agents currently in the field. He lets himself lie down in the sofa in his office and have a nap. _Just for a few minutes._

He wakes up a quarter to one in the afternoon.

 _Oh shit._ “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

“You clearly needed it, boss. Don’t worry we covered for you.”

“Even the Shanghai mission?”

“Yes, sir. No sighting on any of the airports. Schedule of flight seems legit.”

“Okay, thank you. You’re aren’t off the hook, Robbie. You shouldn’t have let me sleep for almost ten hours.”

Before the minion could say he’s sorry, Q moves to their new central station for communications. It was a very spacious room lined with tables of computers. There is a large screen on the other side of the room, which will be used for major missions. There are four other monitors on its sides, two of which show the constant running programs that scan for hostiles on active missions, and the other two show the status of their network and system. He’s quite proud of what they’d done on a short amount of time.

With that thought, he sits down in front of one of the regular computers to type a new message for 007.

_EWA FLIGHT 226 9 pm_

 

\--

 

Bond arrives at the airport one hour before his mark.

He steals a chauffeur’s coat and hat and waits with the other receiving people. He hears over the intercom that flight 226 had landed. A stream of people pours out the gate. He immediately sees Patrice and he discretely follows him. Patrice pulls over a building and Bond parks two streets away. He still has a vantage point and he sees Patrice approach the building.

007 pulls out his gun and tests the dermal sensor Q said that is in the grip. The three dots below the hammer lights up in green. _Fancy_. He smiles. _I wonder what more can Q do_. His musings are interrupted as he looks back at Patrice and sees him kill the security guard of the building.

 _It’s show time_.

In the end, he kills Patrice without discovering who he worked for. His shoulder is killing him and he couldn’t hold on to Patrice any longer. Pity he dies fast and almost without pain, just one smooth drop and then the impact. He should’ve experienced more for what he did to Ronson. Still, he’s dead and Bond’s lead dies with him. Or so he thought.

He looks over the room on the next building that Patrice gunned down. It’s empty except for a woman staring at him. She must be with working with Patrice as well as the two goons he saw take away the body. Bond needs to go before the woman sees his face clearly. So when he is washed with darkness, he gets up and takes Patrice’s equipment with him. He could start with them first. If he comes empty-handed, then he can question the woman.

In a special compartment on Patrice’s case, he sees a casino chip. This must be Patrice’s payment for the assassination. Follow the money, end with the employer. Without second guessing, he catches the first flight to Macau.

Bond scouts the casino before doing anything. He notes of the armed men, cameras, and exit routes. He also finds out that his intuition about the woman from Shanghai is correct as he sees her similarly scanning the room. _She could be useful later_.

He goes back to the hotel he’s staying and calls M. He tells her what he learned and that he’s decided to cash in the chip he got from Patrice. M approves of his plan and tells him to engage as soon as he is able. M also tells him that the hacker had already decrypted the hard drive and five NATO agents are already at risk. Five more next week if they don’t act immediately.

“Noted, ma’am. I’ll proceed tomorrow night.”

He is getting ready when he hears a knock on the door. He poises his gun at the ready and goes to answer the door. He relaxes slightly when he hears a familiar voice on the other side.

“Room Service.”

He opens the door and sees the woman who shot him. Somehow he still didn’t know the woman’s name and he refers to her as ‘the woman who shot him’ in his head. He keeps forgetting to ask her and he can’t bring himself to care.

“I didn’t order anything, not even you.”

She tells him that she has new information. He _does_ learn something new, but it wasn’t about the mission. _Q’s afraid of flying_. Bond doesn’t know why but that statement crowds his mind. He hopes his interest doesn’t bleed into his reply and he’s grateful the woman continues her report. It’s nothing he didn’t already know so he uses this time to compose his thoughts and rid it of Q.

He reaches for his razor and the woman looks impressed. He feeds her attraction with sweet words and hands her his razor. There’s nothing wrong about having a little fun before the games begin. And he still needs to know what her real agenda is. He sits in a chair and the woman places herself in between his legs. After a few exchanges, he accuses her of spying for Mallory. She doesn’t deny it and tells him that he shouldn’t antagonize Mallory just yet. He isn’t satisfied with that and decides he needs to speed things up. He pops a button of her shirt but she stops him.

“Keep still. This is the tricky part.”

She finishes shaving him and wipes off the excess foam on his face. She tells him that he looks the part now. _Old dog, new tricks_. Yet another jab on his age. But Bond thinks she means it as a compliment. That even after all these years, he can still surprise. He smirks and grabs her for a kiss, but he is refused yet again.

“I don’t mess around with taken people.”

She strokes his chest repeatedly. “A little birdy told me that you have a soulmate.”

“Wherever did you hear that, dear?”

“People. And it seems that they’re right.”

He holds her wrist to stop. His hold is tight enough to warn her that she’s treading hot waters. But the woman is calm and composed. Her pulse under his fingers is steady. He is impressed. She _is_ a good agent and she’s wasted in a desk job.

“Huh. I didn’t expect that.”

He follows her gaze down his chest. He sees that his inscription cover has been erased and _Lucifer_ is visible.

“Did Mallory put you up to this? Why? Agents are allowed to keep their soulmate names a secret, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“No, this wasn’t Mallory. I was just –“ she loses a beat, “ –curious. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“And why would a darling like you be curious about an old dog’s soulmate?”

“I’m trying to win a bet.”

Bond hums at that. “Tricking a double-oh is a very dangerous game.”

“I like to take my chances,” she kisses his cheeks and whispers to his ears. “And besides, you can’t hurt me. You’re not the only who has tricks.”

“Really now? Why don’t we test those tricks in bed, hmm?”

The woman gets off her knees and turns to leave. “Only you, James, will turn a threat into something sexual. But as I told you, I don’t sleep with people with soulmates.”

“Mine is dead.”

She looks at him with a long, hard stare and sees _something_ in his expression. Then the corner of her lips twitches as she fights a smirk. _Who the bloody hell does she think she is?_

“Wait, are _you_ Lucifer? You don’t look like a Lucifer. You’re more of a Mary or Eve.” _And I don’t feel the tug between us._

She laughs at that, “Oh no. I don’t have a soulmate. Even if I did, I’m sure you won’t be it. Besides, I think you already have a hunch about who yours is.”

She opens the door and lingers in the doorway before saying, “Before I forget, Q gave me gifts. I’ll have someone bring you your share.”

There goes his mind again. With just the mention of the Quartermaster, all he could think about is him. He tries not to consider what the woman said. _She’s_ the one who cares about his soulmate. For whatever reason, _she_ made it her mission to know his name.

Bond doesn’t care because _his soulmate is gone_.

And it’s sure as hell isn’t a star whose light spans six thousand miles just to haunt him.

 

\--

 

Eve Moneypenny is one of the agents that Q can say that he’s friends with.

When they met, Q was not yet Q and Miss Moneypenny was not yet MI6. There had been a joint mission between them and MI5. Miss Moneypenny was one of the agents from Five and Q was the one tasked to handle the agents. Q hadn’t paid her much attention since their association was only temporary, but when everyone was gone home except for him it was Miss Moneypenny who dragged him from his work.

“Call me Eve, S. ‘Miss Moneypenny’ is quite a mouthful to say again and again, don’t you think?”

They went out for drinks that night.

A month passed and the mission went smoothly. Eve got it on with other people from Six, and she discovered that she worked better with them than her colleagues back at Five. So when it was time for her to go back, she asked to be transferred. _Domestics get boring from time to time_ , she had said to Q. _In Six I could travel the world, absorb different cultures, and meet different people every week._

She made it sound like MI6 is a Touring Agency. Maybe she’s right, the double-ohs sure do act like they’re on vacation with MI6’s money.

They become friends, Q thinks.

She nags him when R is out and he still hasn’t eaten since lunch the day before. He lets her test new equipment and makes ones that are modified just for her. She’s the one he goes to when pressure and his insecurities get the best of him and he doesn’t want R to worry or he doesn’t want to hear another ‘you have nothing to get anxious about’ _like that helps._ He’s the one that one that Eve trusts enough to get drunk with after a disastrous mission.

They’ve been there for each other for the past three years. And so when Eve comes home from Istanbul, he goes to her flat with a bottle of vodka. He does it again when they heard of 007’s miraculous return.

“Your soulmate is a pain in the arse.”

“He’s not my soulmate.”

“Is too! Deny it all you want but I _know_ he’s yours and this reckless, stupid, infuriating man is your responsibility.”

Eve saw his soulmate inscription the one time he paraded around his flat in only his pyjama bottoms. He almost had a heart attack when he saw her sitting pretty in his couch, smiling like a cat who got her paws on cream. Before he could ask why she is smiling like a loon, he realises that his chest is bare and the golden _James_ shines under the sunlight. Ever since then it became her mission to tease him about all of the Jameses they mutually know. And her favourite is the notorious 007.

And the teasing doubled in number after Bond’s resurrection.

“Your soulmate needs to be notified about the leak and that he needs to get a move on.”

“Hello to you, too, Miss Moneypenny. No matter how many times you call him that, he’s still not my soulmate. _And_ I think M is the one who’s going to brief him.” Q says without taking his eyes away from his tablet. He’s checking the plans for the bomb-testing area R &D requested for.

“Yes, but I’m being sent to give 007 a little push and to help him in any way I can.”

“That’s odd. I haven’t received an email concerning that.” He changes his task window to check his email.

“It’s kind of an unofficial mission.”

That gets him to look up. With an eyebrow raised, he says, “Spying for Mallory now, are we, Miss Moneypenny?”

“That and your _James_ needs support.”

“He’s not my – you know what? I’m not going to waste my breath and just give you equipment so that you could leave.”

“Thank you, Q.”

He gives her two earpieces, a dress that has hidden pockets for weapons, and a modified Beretta. She brings them back in pristine order except for one of the two earpieces. She says that it took a swim in champagne courtesy of 007. She also tells her that 007’s gun was gone, too, and it ended up in the belly of a Komodo dragon. He stops what he was doing to stare at Eve. When he sees no traces of mirth, he bangs his forehead in his desk. He’s anticipated this. He knows double-oh agents have the habit of costing them millions of pounds.

But a _Komodo dragon_ is just ridiculous.

He thanks Eve for telling her and he goes back to work. Eve hovers for a few minutes and he asks her if there’s anything else that he can do for her. She hesitates for a bit, then she asks for his name. He gets confused and suspicious.

“I told you before, it’s Michael.”

“So you’re still sticking to that. I know a fake name when I hear one, Q. And it’s quite curious why you chose that particular name.”

_Okay? Definitely suspicious now._

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish the dossier for 002’s upcoming mission.”

“Okay, Q. I’ll let you go for now because you’re busy. And you’re cagey without a drink. But I promise I’ll get it out of you when you least expect it.”

She walks out with a bounce in her stride. He knows that she knows that he was lying about his name, but it never bothered her before. He knows that she understands why he keeps his past under wraps and she respects him enough to keep from prying. So what transpired that made Eve start prodding.

Something must have happened in Macau.

Q sighs and adds this strange exchange on his to-be-reviewed mental list and goes back to gathering intel for 002.

 

\--

 

Bond _seriously_ wants this mission to be over.

That’s the only thing that runs through Bond’s head as he climbs out of the cabin to the deck of the Chimera. He hopes that when he finally meets the instigator, then all of this would be finished. He would apprehend the man, go back to London, and then drink his Scotch.

 _Wait, I don’t have a flat and all its contents are gone._ He could always go on a holiday with Severine. He could continue his trip to Greece. Or maybe not with Severine, some other woman. Or he could pick someone up in Greece. Bond’s not picky.

 _Or I could ask Q out for a drink_ , his traitorous mind thinks. _Just an apology for the lost gun,_ he amends the statement. The gun saved Bond’s life after all. If it weren’t for the dermal sensor, he would have been shot down in a lizard pen. He owes his life to Q, it makes sense that Bond would take him out for drinks. _Is he even old enough to drink?_

Speaking of Q, Bond gets the last piece of tech he got from him. He activates the radio just as he is out the cabin. He walks up to where Severine is standing at the bow.

“It’s not too late. We can turn back now.”

Bond wants to laugh at Severine’s naiveté. Even if he wants to back out, he highly doubts that they can. He already could see the island where the villain resides. When he looks back, there stand the henchmen that are ready to kill him.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

He lets the henchmen tie him up. They do the same with Severine. They dock on a small port on the side. They usher him and Severine out the boat. As they walk to their impending doom, Severine fills him in about the history of the island. The hired guns let them talk and walk freely, but when they reach a turn in the road, Severine and he are separated.

They tie him on a chair in a room full of what looks like computer servers. Wires and blinking lights are scattered around the room. He waits patiently for the villain to present himself.

 _Raoul Silva is a madman,_ James infers after his encounter with him. He is a madman driven by revenge and power. He admits on doing manipulations over grand, international affairs and he feels no remorse. He treats all of it like it’s a game. Like a game of chess where he could put, manipulate and terminate the pieces as he wills. And he loves doing it. James can tell that he loves the power he has over the pieces. This man needs to be stopped.

But he can’t do anything besides sitting tight. He’s outnumbered and he knows his limits. MI6 could finish the job, they just need to finally catch up to him. So he buys time.

Bond lets Silva do his monologue. He lets the man get into his personal space, he smirks and says that it wouldn’t be the first time he had this kind of touches. It’s true. In his line of work, he couldn’t control whoever he has to seduce. And he likes various kinds of lovers from both genders. He doesn’t particularly like Silva though, and he doesn’t like any of the touches he receives from him.

Silva unties him. He’s conceited enough to think that Bond will not do anything. Bond lets himself be steered outside where the speakers are blaring a French song. Silva continues his monologue as they walk towards the centre. There stands Severine, bloodied and beat up. Silva challenges him to a game, and Severine gets added to 007’s list of people that got killed because of him.

He hears a faint thumping of helicopters and he smiles. He quips one last time, then takes down four of the thugs.

He smiles up the three helicopters looming overhead. It’s finally done.

Except it isn’t.

M visits Silva in his holding cell straightaway and Bond accompanies her. He learns that the real name of the madman is Tiago Rodriguez. He learns that M traded him off in exchange for six agents. And he learns that the reason he was let go was that he acted beyond his brief; because he had gone rogue and not because he grew redundant. This reassures Bond that M won’t sacrifice anyone just because it was easier. M cares for her agents, one way or another. And it pains her every time she has to think of the greater good rather than the good of an individual.

She heads off with a final order, “I want to know what’s in that computer.”

And Bond proceeds to go down to Q-Branch.

He was directed to a room filled with computers. Q is on the hub, setting up Silva’s computer. He approaches Q and stands by him, careful not to get too close as what his soul wants him to be.

Without looking at him, Q starts to speak. He absentmindedly tells James about the failsafe protocols Silva has on his computer. It seems like the boffin is one of those people who talks while working. It’s been said that it boosts cognitive abilities so Q most likely develops a habit in doing so to keep his mind racing.

Q tells him that there are only about six people in the world that could program safeguards like Silva’s.

_Oh, don’t tell me you’re actually incompetent and you can’t get past them._

“I invented them.”

 _Of course, you did_. James smiles at the back of the Quartermaster’s head as he connects a couple of cables into the computer. Q tells him that he already got past the firewalls in place, and he’s on his way to decrypting the files. Q intrigued James on their first meeting. And now seeing Q in his element, it impressed James.

If Silva can create mass hysteria on his laptop, James could only imagine what _Q_ could do.  And he’s relieved to know that this brilliant man is on their side.

The emotion is short-lived though as he hears the opening doors.

And purely by instinct, he runs like hell.

 

\--

 

_The higher you are, the harder you hit the ground._

Q knows all about the physics of a free fall. He knows that for every 1 meter an object rises per second, potential energy that would contribute how bad the fall is going to be is stored. He knows that for every second that passes during the fall, the falling object’s velocity would add by 9.81 meters per second. And the object will fall faster and faster as it reaches the ground with the impact velocity equal to the square root of twice the height of the fall multiplied by 9.81 metres per second per second.

So, if say, a man that weighs around 88.77 kilograms is dropped from the height of 1000 metres, the impact velocity would be 140 metres per second. The kinetic energy just before hitting the ground is 869.95 kilojoules. And when that’s combined with the distance travelled after the impact of – assuming it’s a hard ground – 2 inches or 0.0508 metres, the average impact force is 17.12 meganewtons.

Only 3,000 newtons per square centimetre is needed to break a bone. Apply this to the whole body at once, every bone would break and all the organs being housed by them would soon fail. With the hypothetical scenario, the man is _surely_ dead.

Yes, Q knows the science behind the metaphor. But it certainly didn’t help him prepare for when he falls.

For seventeen years, Q has been rising relentlessly. He’s one of the best, if not _the_ best. There’s close to nothing that can keep him out from a system. And even those firewalls, he could crack them if he were given enough time. And he knows these. He takes pride in what he can do. He soars high with each of his achievements being the gusts of wind that take him higher and higher.

This is supposed to be another one of those. He knows he’s better than Silva. He _invented_ Silva’s safety protocols. He glides by Silva’s firewalls like they were _nothing_. He decrypts the data from Silva’s most encrypted level he has almost immediately. He’s rising and rising and rising–

And then he hears the first hissing noise of opening doors. He feels cold air wash his being and he freezes. He stops midair one second and he is falling the next.

His breath hitches as drag force that covers his chest increases with every acceleration. _SYSTEM SECURITY BREACH_. His insides are in turmoil as their velocities try to catch up with his falling body’s. _NOT SUCH A CLEVER BOY._ He scrambles to get his bearings back. He tries to fix what was done, grasping on whatever to keep himself afloat. But it’s too late and he feels the hard concrete shatter his entire existence.

“Q. He’s gone.”

He lets a second pass.

And then he picks himself up. Lying on the ground won’t do anything. Panic for the incapacitation is a disadvantage. So he takes two breaths, calms his mind, and he pushes all irrational thoughts back to the recesses of his mind. He will review what happened, find out how he could be so stupid and beat himself up for his recklessness. But all of that would have to come _later_. He shouts commands to the minions. He lets them flush the malware out of their system as he looks for Bond and Silva.

One thing leads to another. And now, Q-Branch isn’t the only one that’s been crippled. It’s all of MI6. _Great. For just two weeks of being Quartermaster, I managed to get M dead._ He’s going to be sacked. They’re going to take him away once and for all. After all, he let Silva out and it’s his technical trail that led Silva to her. He’s an accessory to her murder.

And yet when Tanner tells him to go home, he doesn’t see anger or hatred. Just exhaustion and grief. He does the only thing he could do at that moment: he packs his laptop and leaves.

Eve finds him just before he gets out of the building. She hugs him, wordlessly, just holding him tight. He snakes his arms around her after a few seconds. They stay like that for a moment. Then she tells him that they shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. He tries to protest, but Eve shuts him up before he gets a word in. They go to his flat. And as soon as they enter, he goes straight to his alcohol cabinet.

“This is my fault.” They’ve been drinking for an hour and a half when Q admits this to Eve.

“Don’t say that, Q. It was nobody’s fault. She knew the risks of this life, the risks of her being bait, and _she_ was the one willing to take her chances.”

“But she wouldn’t have needed to take them if Silva didn’t escape.”

“And that isn’t your fault either. No one saw it coming.”

“That’s the _thing_. I _should have_. I should’ve noticed that it was all too easy. I mean, the key to the most encrypted level of his system practically presented itself bathed in whipped cream with a cherry on top. That alone is suspicious enough. _And_ I should’ve known better. I should’ve anticipated that that bloody Omega Site wasn’t holding any treasure but a _fucking trap_. It’s the goddamn oldest trick in the books! _Hell_ , the Iliad has been warning us off about this for _centuries_.

“I got so caught up with the puzzle that all my focus went to solving it. I didn’t stop and think of the possible consequences.”

“You were under a time constraint. M wanted you to crack the laptop as soon as possible. There was no time for hesitation.”

“I still shouldn’t have been so blind.”

He hears Eve let out an almost-frustrated sigh and then, “Alright, you want to play the blame game? If I hadn’t shot Bond then all of this _wouldn’t have happened._ The drive wouldn’t have been stolen and James would be at his prime.”

“But that wasn’t your fault. M ordered you to take the shot.”

“ _Exactly_. M ordered you to crack Silva’s laptop. M ordered you, through Bond, to lay the electronic trail to Skyfall. All of it came down to _M’s orders_ and even then we can’t fault her for making the decisions she thought to be right because she’s still just a human who wants to do her best.”

Q is silent after that. He wants to believe that it wasn’t his fault. He wants to believe that his arrogance, his certainty that he’s better than most, was not to blame. _Regret is unprofessional_ , M would have said. There’s no point in dwelling in the past, no point in reliving the moments to see where it all went wrong.

But Q can’t just accept that. He learns from mistakes. It’s his past that made him what he is today. He can’t just let this go. He can use this encounter to be better, to be prepared for the worst.

He gives himself a mental list on what he’s supposed to do now. He should make an isolated closed-loop system where he would decrypt villains’ computers. He should get started with the maze-like system he told R about. He should not take their SCADA network for granted and he should isolate and protect it so that if ever the main network is hacked, the gas pipelines won’t be manipulated again.

 _Damn_. He’s going to need more memory if he’s going to build more systems. He hopes that whoever the new M would be, they wouldn’t be some bureaucratic arsehole who only cares about the money that could be saved through budget cuts. Well, he could always compress files to make space, but it’s going to take some time to map an algorithm that maximizes compression while leaving the data completely lossless.

He really should get drunk more often if he gets ideas this many.

His musings are interrupted by Eve. ”I want to continue being Mallory’s assistant.”

“Oh?” Q tries to keep his voice flat. He didn’t expect that. He doesn’t _want_ that. If Eve is going to be Mallory’s assistant permanently, he could lose her. He doesn’t want to lose anyone anymore.

“I think I’ve my fill of abroad excursions. And there is just as much excitement here than out there in the field.”

“So you’re transferring to the ISC offices, then?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. There has been some talk. They say that Mallory’s going to be appointed as the new M.”

“Really now?”

“Yes. So don’t you worry your pretty little head, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Q couldn’t help it, he throws himself at her to give her a bone-crushing hug. “Don’t ever leave me.”

Eve laughs as she wraps her arms around him as well. “Don’t worry Mikey, I won’t."

He flinches at the name. _Right._ He makes a split-second decision when he breaks their hug.

“I’m going to tell you a secret. It doesn’t really affect anything, and I didn’t think it matters to you.”

She cradles his head with both her hands on his cheeks. “Darling, if you’re telling me a secret, then it says a so much about how much you trust me. I think that affects our friendship quite a lot and besides, every single bit about you matters to me.”

He smiles lopsidedly. “You’re like a sister to me and I love you, you know that right?”

“Was that it? Not really much, is it? I already know that.”

“No!” He lets out a very embarrassing giggle. He retracts his statement earlier, he really shouldn’t drink this much. “I’m trying to be serious here, damn it. Anyway, I think I’m ready to tell you my name and all the past associated with it.”

“Oh, Q. You don’t have to.”

“But I want to. R knows about it. You’re one of the people I hold dear most, so you deserve to know, too. And I think right now, while I’m still drunk and my walls are down, is the perfect time to tell you all about it.”

And after that, it’s like a dam is broken and water came rushing out. Words, sentences, stories flow out of his mouth as Eve intently listens. He tells her about his childhood and how he never fit in with the other kids. He tells her about his Uni days, and that it passed by him in a tedious manner so he becomes a grey-hat hacker to alleviate his boredom. Sobriety crawls about the both of them the more he tells.

And then he tells her about his sister, about his sister’s death, about MI6 finding him.

Eve is silent until he brings his stories to an end. She stares at him for two seconds and then they hug again. Q buries his face on her shoulder and he pours how much he loves her in the hug. He receives the same amount of love from her. They hold on to each other for what seems like an eternity. They will always have each other and that’s what matters.

And Q thinks that they’re going to be alright.

_We’re going to get through this. Together._

 

\--

 

At the end of the day, Bond ends up alone.

He breaks into M’s flat when he arrives back at London. It’s odd to have silence greet him and not the woman’s chidings. As much as M insists that his breaking-and-entering is something she finds irritating, there would still be this glint of amusement in her eyes or worry on her forehead when she sees he got injured on the mission. Bond would always see some kind of emotion seep out the cracks of her mask. And now he lost that as well.

He hides in the flat for a week. He hides from Medical, from the executive officers who want to take his statement about the operation, from the world who has taken from him yet again.

He gets a bit suspicious when no one comes to the flat to get her things. He is sure that M doesn’t have any next of kin, so the flat is going to be sold and her things that aren’t to be given away by her will are going to be auctioned. But no one so far crashes Bond’s retreat. _They must know that I’m here then._ And they are giving the time Bond needs to grieve.

_How considerate of them._

But he knows that he has to go back. He has to face them at some point.  So on the first Monday morning since M’s death, he lugs himself off the couch and gets ready to face whoever they replaced M with. He tells himself that he just going for debriefing then he will resign. After their prodding questions, he will go back to his original plan to Greece.

The new M turns out to be Mallory. He sends him to Medical first. It is a week too late but Mallory insists on actual doctors checking his wounds so that they could properly heal. There’s also the matter of his psyche, which Bond has already deemed irrelevant.

After that, it becomes a series of white-washed walls, agent after agent asking the same questions to check for any disparity. This irritates Bond. Do they doubt his loyalty? Or is it that they’re hoping to catch him having an error as a sign of ageing?

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he wants to scream. _I’m already quitting._

All of it lasts for a whole day and it’s past eleven in the evening when he’s finally permitted to go. The day tired him more than it should have so he decides that he’ll resign the next day. Bond doesn’t think he could go through another series of questions.

He doesn’t leave the building right away though. He still doesn’t have a flat and M’s would probably be swarmed by clean-up now that he’s away. And he doesn’t want to sleep in some fancy hotel. So he stays, wandering aimlessly.

And before he knows it, he’s at the floor level where Q-Branch allotted for themselves.

His feet carry him towards the room with the computers. The same room where Silva’s plan started to unfold. The room is less brightly lit than it was before. A few Q-Branch minions are tapping away in their designated computers. The central station is unmanned but the screens are running different programs that James could make no sense of.

He scans the room. He knows that even if _he’s_ not in the hub, he’s here. _He could only be the reason why I ended up here._

And there in the far-left corner of the room he sees Q hunched over a laptop. James approaches him.

“Q. Isn’t it way past your bedtime?”

“007. Back to quipping about my age, I see. I can guarantee you that I’m older than what you think I am.”

“So, what? You’re eighteen?”

Q halts his typing and looks up to James with an eyebrow up. “How old do you think I am?”

“I’m thinking short-off sixteen,” James smirks. Before he could add more, he realises that the laptop Q is working on is connected to a very familiar another one. He tenses up.

“Oh, that. Worry not, 007. It isn’t connected to the system. I do try not to make the same mistakes. I’m not an idiot.”

“Could’ve fooled me, Q.”

James regrets his words as Q frowns and bows his head. “I suppose I may have been an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, Q. I didn’t mean it like that. So what are you still doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you have clocked off six hours ago?” James tries to stir the direction away from where it seems to be headed.

“Contrary to agents’ beliefs, Q-Branch actually never sleeps. There’s always someone here in case an in-field agent needs help.”

“Surely the big boss doesn’t need to work the after-hours. Isn’t that what your minions are for?”

“Well, there’s still a lot to do.” Q waves over the laptops in front of him. “We still don’t know what happened to the list. And I fear that Mr Silva is only the tip of the iceberg. A man like him is bound to have connections. The list could be _anywhere_.”

“But you look like you haven’t had a decent sleep for forever, Q.”

“Yes, well –“ Q is cut off by an alarm somewhere in his desk. James feels dread. _Not again_.

“What is it? What happened?”

“It’s nothing, 007. It’s just an alarm someone set up so I would remember to go home before midnight.”

Q takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. With a sigh, the Quartermaster stands up and starts to gather up his things. James notes that Q still packs Silva’s computer with him.

“Isn’t the purpose of going home is to get some rest? Bringing work with you is a little counter-productive, don’t you think? Q, I don’t think this is healthy.”

“Right, because you’re the epitome of health, aren’t you Bond?”

“But we’re different. For me, my _own_ life is on the line, but _you_ hold the lives of everyone here. MI6 could lose a Quartermaster if you let yourself burnout, Q. And I don’t think it could survive a blow so soon.”

Q opens his mouth to argue, then he closes it. He tries to get a decent rebuttal and he opens his mouth again, only to immediately close it after. He sighs and lets out an _I can’t believe I’m taking life lessons from a double-oh_ and then he takes out Silva’s computer from his bag.

When Q walks out to leave, James follows him. Q gives him a look but doesn’t voice out his question. James takes this as permission to escort him out the building.

“I forgot to ask, why were you at Q-Branch?” Q asks after walking in silence for a few moments.

“No reason in particular.” _Because he’s sure as hell isn’t going to admit that Q has a hold on him this strong._ “I just finished debriefing and decided what Q-Branch has in storage.”

“Of course. Major used to bemoan your equipment-thieving-spree tendencies. Well you see, 007, Q-Branch is under new management and every weapon we’re going to make is going to be under lock and key.”

“Those never stopped me before.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen what _mine_ can do.”

“There’s a double entendre somewhere there. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Q scoffs, “I’m not like you, Bond. I don’t have a pathetic need to put pick-up lines on every conversation I make.”

They reach the doors to the parking lot. Q turns to James and says, “So are you going to keep on acting like my security detail for the rest of the night so you could have a reason to follow me home?”

James shrugs. “You’re a pretty important person, Q. And it’s late, it’s dangerous to be alone.”

“You do realise that every employee of MI6 goes through extensive defence training before they’re hired?”

 _Yes, but even then, people die. For all of M’s training, it didn’t save her in the end._ “You can never be too careful, Q.”

The Quartermaster shakes his head, a small smile slowly forming on his face. “You know, if you’re in need of food and lodging, I could fix one for you. Just say the word.”

“I don’t need another hotel room, Q.”

“You’re tired of luxurious hotels, so you insist on worming your way to my flat, Bond?” Q gives him a pointed look for a moment and then lets out a sigh – James is starting to be alarmed, Q seems to be doing that quite a lot. The man is sure as hell _stressed_.

“Fine. I have a guest room, you can stay with me. But only until MI6 issues you a new flat. And I hope you’re not allergic to cats.”

To be honest, James doesn’t know what his endgame really was. Did he just want some time with Q? Did he want a place to crash? Did he just want Q to be safe? No matter what he _wanted_ to happen, he’s more than elated with what _did_ happen: they’re now on their way to Q’s flat.

James looks over the man on the driver’s seat and he thinks that he could not possibly walk out now. M may be gone, but Q is still here. The man looks too skinny for James’ liking and if other people have already gone on lengths as to set alarms just so Q can remember to sleep then it clearly means that someone should be assigned to take care of the Quartermaster.

And as much as James wants to ignore the pull he feels towards the younger man, it doesn’t make it any less strong. So he elects himself to be that someone.

And he thinks he can try a relationship with Q. Espionage can be a lonely path. James will hate himself if he lets this beautiful, brilliant man to be left alone. He will hate himself if Q loses that spark in his eyes.

Maybe not romantic though, such a relationship would inevitably end badly in this line of work, but maybe platonic. He can try being friends with Q, to build trust and companionship between colleagues who are both devoted to serving their country.

He just hopes he can _stay_ and be _satisfied_ to just being friends though. Especially when Q pulls over in front of an apartment building, smiles at him and says in a melodious voice that they’ve arrived. _Bloody hell._ Q can give up programming since his _smile alone_ can already topple governments.

“Bond? Are you alright?”

James smirks at the man whose smile is now turning to a worrying frown. “Never better, Q. Let’s see this flat of yours, shall we?”

 

\--

 

Bond lives with him for a week, which turned to two, and then a month.

“You never did file for a new housing arrangement, did you, Bond?” This isn’t true though. Q knows that Bond filed the proper documents the morning after the night Q offered his flat. And then Bond was given his own flat three days after. _So why the hell is he still here?_

Well Q neither asks nor throws Bond out. Even now he skirts around the topic. _It’s just because I don’t want to admit on hacking his files._ Bond thinks he’s sketchy already, no need to fuel that fire of distrust. But then, Bond is staying with Q. He sleeps under the same roof, eats the same food, hell, they even watch the same show on the telly. Maybe Bond trusts him after all?

_Goddamnit. Why is it always a paradox with Bond? This is all so bloody confusing._

Bond gives him a blank look. “Took you long enough to ask.”

“Yes, well. I didn’t want to seem rude. And I find myself not minding _much_.”

“And you’re starting to?”

“Yes. No. I mean, you can’t keep holing up in my flat for _forever_ , could you?”

“If you wanted me out, Q, you only need to say the word.”

But there’s the root cause of Q’s problems, he’s starting to realise recently. Q doesn’t have the heart to say no to the agent. He thinks it may be because he feels guilty of the whole Operation: Skyfall or maybe he just feels bad for the man who had just lost someone that made a great deal of impact in his life. Q always had a habit of taking in strays.

Not that Q is comparing _Bond_ to a stray. That would be absurd.

But when he saw Bond the night he got back, he couldn’t help but think him like a lost puppy that was kicked multiple times by cruel children. Bond tugged on Q’s heartstrings with great power that he ended up shielding the agent away from the big bad execs. He made the former M’s flat off-limits so that Bond could have his peace and quiet.

And now he’s letting Bond rest and recuperate in the comforts of his home. Q is currently cooking their dinner while Bond is sitting pretty on Q’s dining chair. Oh, how the world has gone mad.

 _Damn it._ “I’ve grown accustomed to your rather dubious presence.” _I should_ really _need to learn to say no._ “You could stay a little longer.” _Preferably soon._

“Thank you, Q.” And then the agent flashes his infamous _Bond, James Bond_ smile. _Oh,_ damn _him. He knows. He knows I can’t bloody well say no to him. Buggering fuck._

“Just know that tomorrow night Eve will be coming over and I hope you could be on your best behaviour.”

“I didn’t know you and Eve are a thing.”

“Because we aren’t. Tomorrow is Monthly Movie Night and I’m the designated host of the month. R used to join us, but then she went and had a family and became always so busy on first-Fridays-of-the-month or any Fridays for that matter.”

“Maybe it’s her way of setting you up with Eve, huh?” Bond has a sly grin on his face and he wriggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh stop that. It’s never going to happen because, as lovely as Eve is, I don’t really swing her way.”

“Interesting.” Bond still has the grin, but he, fortunately, stops the eyebrows. Unfortunately, though, there’s a mischievous light glinting on the man’s eyes.

“Don’t get any ideas, 007. I have a knife in my hand.” And as if to prove it, Q brandishes said knife on Bond’s direction.

Their night proceeds the same way as how it usually does. It all feels a little bit surreal, living with James Bond. Q wakes up at six and goes for a run, Bond joins him. Q takes a shower and gets ready for work at quarter to eight, Bond prepares breakfast. Q leaves for work at half past eight, Bond sits in front of the telly with one of the cats on his chest.

On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, Q takes a break at two in the afternoon, Bond delivers one kind of a pastry or another to Q-Branch before heading back up to Medical. On other days, it’s Eve, but Q knows that Bond asks – read: demands – Eve to do so, something about repayment for shooting him off a train. She does it without complaints though, happy enough with the act of feeding Q in itself.

On days that Bond is in MI6, Q does his job and flurries around his Branch, Bond acts as a spectator and follows him around from four onwards. Q tries to get more job done, Bond pesters him that they should go home already at seven in the evening. On other days, Bond still bothers him but it’s done through incessant texts. Q says goodbye to the minions, Bond welcomes him home at half past seven.

They feel oddly _domestic_ and it’s getting quite alarming.

That’s just how only they _usually_ go though. Once or twice, Q is kept by work from going home for three days. One time, Bond disappears throughout the weekend after a particularly bad session with psych.

They would always revert back to their somewhat routine though, and that’s what Q thinks that matters.

That is until M signs Bond fit for duty and sends him off to Sweden.

Q somewhat feels a little bit sad. He knows that this reassuring familiar setup he has with Bond has an expiry date, but it doesn’t prevent him from feeling so. Now that Bond is good as new, he doesn’t need Q to exercise with or have breakfast or dinner with. And Bond doesn’t need to do the simple gestures of gratitude like giving him cakes.

Q is, of course, wrong to assume that.

This is proven the night Bond comes back, all bloodied up and looking worse for wear.

“Don’t act so surprised, Q. You never asked for my spare key so I take it that I still live here. Now, will you be a dear a help me redress my bandages?”

“Of course, be right back.” Q is halfway across the sitting room when he adds, “Welcome home, Bond.”

 

\--

 

Q becomes James’ home.

James wanted to treat it like a normal mission. Feeding Q, making sure he sleeps, being friends with him. All so the Quartermaster is kept healthy. But then, Q starts to take care of _him_ as well and James couldn’t get enough. So he comes back.

After his missions, he lets Q clean him up and, on some occasions, sew his wounds or reset his bones. During his downtime, he lets Q dump his cats on him to keep him from straining himself too much.

When he sets out to another mission, he lets Q handle his missions _for the most part_. When he comes home though, he doesn’t exactly bring back his equipment in one piece. It wouldn’t do anyone good if his Quartermaster is spoiled too much.

It has been a cycle up to this point. And nothing seems to break it. Not even when he learns that _Q is Vesper’s brother_.

It happens on the anniversary of her death. He finishes up his mission two days earlier than their set timeline. He wants to go back home as soon as possible since he thinks that if he doesn’t, he could slip and he’ll start to lose himself again.

He knows he’s moved on. He doesn’t love her anymore. But whoever started the nonsense about time healing wounds is a liar because it still hurts like a bitch whenever this time of the year rolls around.

James thinks it’s because he never had closure with her. She died abruptly without telling him why _why why_? Her ghost sifts through his fingers as cold and slippery the water that drowned her had felt like. He wants to know if whatever they had was real. He wants to know if he’s still capable of _love_. He wants to know if he was ever enough for her.

He just wants to _know_ and he could never have his answers. That’s what makes him furious.

He doesn’t want to stay as he is for the sake of everybody, especially his. His liver can only take so much alcohol and he knows he needs a change of habits. So yes, he finishes his mission early and comes home. That way he won’t be tempted to do drastic decisions like maybe jump in front of a train.

And then, a surprise welcomes him home.

James sees Q sprawled on top of the couch while nursing a mug on his chest. James would have thought nothing of it if it weren’t for the half empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table.

Q sits up when he notices James. “Ja – Bond! You’re home early.”

“Your keen observation astounds me, Quartermaster.” He walks around the coffee table and sits beside Q. He pries the mug, which contains scotch as James had guessed, off the man’s hands. “Did somebody die?”

Q gives him a sad look before looking away. He stares blankly at the wall. “Yes, but it was a long time ago. Bond, you have been very good to me and I’ve been putting off telling you what I’m about to tell you for far too long. You need to know.”

“What is it Q?”

“Six years ago today, I’ve lost someone. Someone important. My sister. She drowned in Venice, you see.”

“Q…” James starts but he doesn’t know what to say. Surely Q isn’t referring to the same woman he lost.

“Her name was Vesper and I loved her very much.”

Q cries for the longest of time. James does, too, as he doesn’t know whatever else he could do. James ends holding Q to his chest as both run their eyes dry. When there’s nothing left but their sobs, Q says, “Please don’t hate me.”

“Why would I hate you, Q?”

“Because I kept such a huge secret from you. Because of what my sister did. I don’t know.”

“You weren’t ready to tell me and that was fine. As for your sister, I couldn’t hate _her_ even if I tried. So I don’t think I could ever hate you simply by association.”

“For the record, she truly did love you. It scared her at first, but then she became willing to try. I think the reason why she went through with the bargain was that so she could cut her ties with Quantum. So that she can fully be with you.”

“She should have asked for my help.”

“True, but I know my sister. She was trying to spare you the pain. It ended up hurting you anyway, but you have to understand that she was just trying to do right by you.”

Q disentangles himself from James’ arms and looks him in the eyes. James looks and sees the same eyes as if it’s _Vesper_ who’s trying to make him believe. “You might not have hated my sister, but you still haven’t forgiven her. Forgive her and,” Q holds his left cheek, “forgive yourself.”

It was the same thing Mathis told him when he died on James’ arms. It was the same thing psych tells him when James makes the mistake of showing up drunk. It was the same thing the old M used to tell him when James shows sign of slipping away. He has heard it so many times.

But coming from Q, from Vesper’s brother, from the only man who could possibly understand James’ pain, this time it sticks within James.

James lets go of his anger. James lets go of Vesper.

“You should forgive yourself, too, Q.”

“What?”

“She’s the reason why you take care of the agents and you minions religiously. Q, no one’s going to die if you think about yourself first every once in a while.”

“Someone might. Too many things could go wrong too quickly. It certainly what happened back then. I had a sister one day and then didn’t the next.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, I _know_ that. But that doesn’t mean I’m letting myself become careless. I’ll keep everyone safe if it’s the last thing I’d do.”

“Q,” James says warningly.

“And besides, I have you and R and Eve to take care of me so I’m not worried.”

Q flashes a goofy smile and James thinks for a second that he’s having a heart attack, with all the skipped beats his heart makes.

Later James asks for Q’s first name and comments that it might be as equally ridiculous as _Vesper_ if not more.

Q scoffs at him and smirks, “You already know about my last name, Bond. I’m not giving you the privilege of knowing the first. You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Who do I have to kill for it?”

“Why not try returning your equipment in pristine order for a year, hmm? I might just reconsider if you’ve managed to do so.”

And then they’re fine. Better than fine, actually. Their personal relationship became much stronger after that, and their working relationship followed soon after. Q makes the most brilliant gadgets and plans for his missions. James tries to stick to the plans and to bring back his equipment. He obviously fails and Q will bite his ear off, but he’ll save James from whatever tight spot he ends up. They are amazing together and their system works.

That is until he comes back from Mexico City.

Okay, Mexico City wasn’t an official mission. It was Bolivia. Bond prompts his handler that he’s taking a holiday after. He uses the excuse that the anniversary of the ‘Skyfall incident’ is nearing and he needs some time off. He then uses said time to kill Marco Sciarra.

He becomes quite a spectacle of himself in the end, but he gets the job done.

And then he goes home. Only to find Q in the sitting room telling him that he should leave. Q doesn’t explain, he only says that he’s very cross with him and that he doesn’t want to see him step foot in his flat ever again.

“If this is about Mexico City, Q, I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t about your stupid stunt in Mexico City, Bond. It’s about you _doing_ it, not the deed itself. How can you be so selfish, Bond?”

“Q, I don’t understand.”

“Please, leave. I won’t ask again.”

James, despite his confusion, does what his Quartermaster orders him. He goes to the flat MI6 commissioned him almost a year ago but he rarely uses. He takes out his scotch from one of the boxes and pours himself a drink.

And as he sits on his dust-caked couch, surrounded by moving boxes he never got around to unpack, he can’t help but think to himself.

_Everything feels wrong._

 

\--

 

Everything feels wrong.

Q is missing something. A pattern with the recent attacks. An association of Mr Silva. The return of Quantum. The new merger of Five and Six. Everything feels ominous and Q is feeling restless. Something big is going down and Q wants to figure it out before it happens.

For the months of studying Silva’s laptop, Q learns of Mr Silva’s alarming large degree of association with various organized crime. He learns that at one point or another, Le Chiffre, Dominic Greene, Mr White and Mr Silva worked together. It seems that they’re all part of one large organization.

And Q’s almost sure they’re the ones behind the attacks overseas that is making MI6 look bad. They’re planning on taking away Britain’s last line of defence. They’re succeeding, too, with the merger and all.

And this is why Q still hasn’t left his station for almost five days now.

Bond is away so no one is there to take him home. There’s so much to do. He needs to be prepared. MI6 needs to be prepared. He won’t stop until he understands whatever the hell is going on.

Everyone has gone home for the night, so no one is there to see someone sticking a needle on the side of the Quartermaster’s neck and hauls him away from the building.

The man who arranged for Q’s kidnapping is a short, greying man with one eye. And his subordinates call him Number Two. _How pretentious_.

“I must say, Mr Lynd. You’re proving to be a rather large thorn on the side. I’m a little sad we hadn’t met before now. You could’ve been great for the company. You and your sister would have achieved so much.”

“You’re the new head of Quantum?”

“Bah! I always hated that name. It was the pale king who chose it. He wanted to feel special, but his stomach isn’t strong enough and he caved. He’s now dying, alone, forgotten. I’m taking the reins back and I will lead our extortion operations back to its former glory. Actual glory, mind you, not some second-rate whispers in the shadows of a pretentious name.”

“What do you want from me?”

“The most ruthless weapon of all, information.”

“And you think I’m just going to hand over them to you?”

“Of course not, silly child. But my men are very good at what they do. And when they’re done, you will be left with so little sanity that you wouldn’t be able to stop spilling your secrets even if you wanted to.”

They strip him down and drench him with cold water to numb his skin. They keep him in a windowless, sound-proofed cell. Sensory deprivation. That’s the path they’re going with. Q thinks it isn’t so bad. A little quiet sounds – heh – nice actually. This will be a trip to the park.

It has only been three days, but for Q it feels like a year. He’s shivering, hungry, and starting to hallucinate and he’s getting annoyed because MI6 is surely taking their time. _Those bloody twats_. He still thinks it isn’t so bad, but on the fifth-day mark, he starts hearing his sister.

And so the things he’s been telling himself the first few months after she died obtains a voice.

He hears her tell him how he killed her. How he’s never been enough and how she desperately wanted to leave him to fend for himself. She tells him how he had always dragged her down, how much of a deadweight he is. She tells him that he’s stealing away her James and he’s exploiting his kindness like the little whore that he is.

That last one’s new. _What the fuck, brain?_

Then he hears his mother, or at least he thinks it’s his mother when the voice says that it was his birth that caused the complications and he killed her as well. He’s going to have a talk with his subconscious after this. Have some long overdue therapy. Yes, that’s what he’s going to do when he gets out of here.

 _Don’t you mean_ if _you get out of here?_ This time it’s Bond’s voice. He hears Bond say that MI6 has already forgotten him, that _he_ has forgotten about him. No one is going to rescue him. He’s nothing to them. Nothing. Why would they waste time and resources for someone who killed M?

_Okay. No. Q. No. Nothing I hear is real. I didn’t kill M or my mum or my sister. Fucking stupid-ass brain._

Q is pulling his hair out to keep him grounded. He’s not going to give in to his demons. He didn’t then, he won’t now. And James will come for him.

Ten days in captivity, and it isn’t James that barges through the door like a real-life white knight. No, it is 009 who saves him and he feels a little betrayed.

The agent takes him back to MI6. And Q lets himself be ushered to M’s office for a debriefing.

All the while Bond is nowhere to be seen.

Q briefs M about Number Two, about Quantum’s rise from the ashes, about the interlocking connections of almost every mission they had for the past few months and the Le Chiffre-Greene missions. M raises a hand to stop Q from delving into a full report and orders him to go to Medical.

“You should be seen to first, everything else could follow. And Q-Branch is compromised, I’m relocating you. Tanner can give you the details.”

He nods his affirmation and leaves.

After a series of physical and psychological tests, Eve comes to see him and takes him home. He asks for Bond and Eve gives him a sad look. She tells him Bond’s signing off to go on a holiday is the last thing they heard from him, and then some explosion happens in Mexico City with _Bond_ written all over it.

So the bastard is off doing Bond things: explosions, vodka martinis, and most probably women while Q was slowly losing his mind. _Good for him_. Q knows he shouldn’t be bitter about it. He has no right to. Who is he to Bond anyways? His dead lover’s brother? That’s almost synonymous to _nobody_.

This illusion of his that he and Bond is _anything_ must be put to an end. He has to stop giving all of him when clearly Bond isn’t prepared to do the same. If Bond were the one that’s gone, Q would burn every crime organization to the ground just to find him. He wouldn’t abandon him for a fucking _holiday_.

One part of him starts to make up excuses for Bond in his head, but the other shuts him down. It’s been decided, he’s cutting all of his personal ties with Bond, leaving only professionalism.

Q later will think he’s rushing over things, but he can’t be forced to give a damn.

He needs to think about himself for a change. Ironically enough, that advice came from Bond himself.

 

\--

 

Bond is beside his mind with worry.

Q won’t talk to him. Q regards him with cool indifference as he did the first time they met. Q won’t look him properly in the eye.

Bond had forgotten how lonely it is without Q.

Eve told him the night before to talk to Q, but how the bloody hell will he do that if Q is avoiding him like a plague? Something bad happened while he was gone. And nobody has been kind enough to fill him in.

The only clue he has is the new place for Q-Branch.

_Oh no. Has Q been compromised?_

Bond just have the greatest luck, doesn’t he? His timing is off. M has grounded him. Q won’t talk to him.

But as much as he wants to stay and grovel for Q’s forgiveness, the former M has left him a mission. And missions always comes first.

He leaves a bottle of Bollinger for Q, as a partial apology gift. Also, a thank you for the car loan.

 _Q is definitely going to kill me for this_.

One thing leads to another, which leads him in a car chase in the streets of Rome. He calls Miss Moneypenny about what he’s learned. Franz Oberhauser is alive. Hamburg, Tunisia, Mexico City. They’re all linked, all under the dealings of one organization.

Eve tells him what he learns about the Pale King, and it turns out to be none other than Mr White.

“You really ought to talk to Q about this. He recognized the name the second I come asking for his help. He told me that his kidnapper referred to Mr White as such so he already managed to gather relevant information.”

Bond swerves a little to the left as he briefly loses control over his body because of what he’s just heard.

“I’m sorry, but Q’s _what_?”

“Kidnapper, James. Did nobody tell you? Q was kidnapped over a week ago and was saved only four days ago. This is why I’ve been telling you to talk to him.”

“Q was dead set on not talking, actually.” He didn’t mean to make his voice sound too bitter.

“Give him a break, James. He got hurt _badly_. He thought no one was going to save him.”

Something constricts on James’ chest. “I will always come for him. Had I known, I would’ve dropped everything just to save him.”

The voice on the other side sighs. “Only if you tell him that enough then maybe he would finally believe it.”

Bond doesn’t have an answer to that so he decides it’s time to get his head back in the game. “I’ve got another name for you: Franz Oberhauser. Check his files before and _after_ his death.”

He ends the car chase with his car sinking to the bottom of the Tiber.

_Q is going to ground me to little bits and feed me to his little hellions._

He meets Mr White in Altaussee and their meeting ends bloody. He meets Mr White’s daughter, it’s as disastrous. Now Bond just wants to have a goddamn drink.

“He’ll have a prolytic, digestive enzyme shake.”

 _What the hell are you doing here? It isn’t_ safe _here. Christ, you’re going to be the_ death _of me._

They argue about the car, about his going rogue, about the validity of James’ sighting of Franz Oberhauser. But one thought runs through James’ mind and that’s _I need to take the eyes off of Q. I need to get away from him._

The solution to his problem presents itself when he notices that Madeleine Swann is being manhandled by Mr Hinx. James tells Q to go back to his hotel and stay out of harm’s way. He even adds in a request about the ring to keep the Quartermaster busy and won’t come looking for him.

James hopes Q will see it for what it truly is. _An appeal for his safety._ Something must show to his face because when Q _finally_ looks at him properly, his gaze softens and his eyes just _shine_.

“I really, really hate you right now.”

“Thank you, Q.”

Now, to save Dr Swann.

 

\--

 

Madeleine Swann is the sun.

When Bond introduces her to Q when they come barreling through his hotel room, he can’t help but think that she looks like the sun. She radiates so much light with her fair skin, angry blonde hair, and fiery eyes. She is so bright that Q has no choice but to shy away.

There is almost nothing in the sky that could outshine the morning star. It’s always the last to fade after a long night. It will stubbornly twinkle even if it is the only star remaining. Until, of course, such a time when the sun rises a-blazing. Its rays painting the entirety of the sky, leaving no space for the morning star’s glow.

It has never been an issue with him before until now.

Q wants to leave the room. Or better yet, Q wants _her_ to leave the room. He doesn’t like the overwhelming feeling she scatters. He doesn’t like the way this woman barges in just to outshine him. Because _of course_ , who else could be the reason why Bond wasn’t there when he was running for his life?

And as if the universe is trying to make a point, he notices the way Bond gravitates around her.

His eyes start to sting. Her warmth stretches about the room. It’s getting harder to breathe as the heat makes the air denser. He may be just a bit melodramatic though – because of the heightened adrenaline – and taking things to an extreme.

He’s taking this metaphor in his head a little bit too seriously.

But who could blame him? The past few months have been a nightmare. For the past hour, he was almost got killed or worse, got kidnapped again. He deserves this little bout of insanity.

 _Damn_. He just wants to go home and cry.

Why is he here again? Right. For the stubborn double-oh. He got on a _plane_. _For fucking Bond._ He wanted to drag the agent by the ear so that he could keep him safe in London. There’s an unknown organization running rampant in the shadows. Different intelligence agencies are in chaos, agents and civilians are killed, terrorists are victorious, and governments are struck with fear. _Nowhere is safe_. Why can’t Bond just let this go?

And now, the organization gets a name and a leader from the agent’s past, Bond has a lead, and there’s a pretty girl to wrap everything up in a neat bow. There’s no way Bond is letting go of this now.

“Q, go back to London.”

_Come back with me, please._

“M’s going to need your help.”

_But how about you? You’ll need my help, too._

“And keep tracking me.”

_As if I was thinking of doing otherwise. I’m not losing you._

Miss Swann turns to leave, but Bond plants his feet on the spot in front of the telly. He tells her to go ahead and to give him a few minutes alone with Q.

“007, time is of the essence. What is it?” _What more can you possibly want from me?_

“I wanted to talk. Eve told me what happened.” Bond stands before him and cradles his face. “I’m so sorry, Q. I should’ve been there for you.”

“No need to worry about it. There are more pressing matters. I understand that now. I’m sorry for throwing you out.” Q raises a hand to take Bond’s off his cheek. The gesture makes his sleeve slide down his wrist, where a hand-sized bruise is starting to bloom.

Bond’s eyes widen at the sight. His speech becomes low and slow as if _he’s_ trying to calm down. “ _What happened, Q_.”

“Two thugs tried to corner me during my ride on the ski lift. I got away, obviously.”

He definitely wasn’t going down without a fight. And he’s come prepared, unlike last time when he never got the chance to defend himself. He almost broke an arm when one of the thugs is apparently smart enough to check the emergency staircase and managed to grab a hold of him. Before he could call out to his accomplice though, Q shocks him with the built-in Taser in his watch.

_See? Prepared._

But it doesn’t change the fact that he was _scared out of his mind_. His breathing becomes laboured again as his mind helpfully reminds him of last time. He shakes his head, trying to get out of Bond’s grasp. He wants to turn around, wants to get away from Bond’s gaze.

_I don’t want you to see me like this. Stop looking at me. God, where’s the sun when you need it?_

He surprises himself when his voice is steady when he says “It’s fine. I’m – “ he lets a soft sob escape, “I’m fine, James.”

He trains his eyes on James’ chest, refusing to meet the agent’s eyes. And then thumbs brush on his cheeks that wipes away his tears. _Oh no, when did I start crying?_

James _finally_ takes his hand off his face, only to wrap his arms around him. One hand steadies his head to the agent’s shoulder and the other strokes his back up and down. The intimate position they are in makes him cry harder. And this time, he lets it all out.

He lets himself pretend. Pretend that they aren’t an agent and a Quartermaster. Pretend that they’re just two broken people desperately trying to hold each other together. And he tries his best not to, but he pretends that he’s the owner of a half-forgotten name and this man holding him is _his_ _James._

He _shouldn’t_ because he knows James isn’t his, _would never_ be his.

And when James eventually recognizes his sun, Luke’s heart would break when he inevitably leaves.

 

\--

 

Q is Q and he is James’ sun and moon and stars and _no one_ could tell him otherwise.

So James holds Q as he is able for as long as Q needs it. He is done putting the mission in front of _everything_. He is done sacrificing people for the sake of getting the job done. _This is Q._ He always comes first. He should have come first even then. For MI6, to lose the Quartermaster is like to lose her heart, the main primary source of protection and what keeps her moving.

Likewise for James, to lose Q would be like to lose his heart.

And James is as sure as hell that he won’t lose Q to a couple of thugs, or a rogue mission went wrong, or even to Q’s own brain. _Q comes first now_. Madeleine can wait for five more minutes. Maybe ten. She can survive without him for a small period of time. All of Franz’s men in Austria are accounted for. She’s safe, for now.

But inside of Q’s mind, it isn’t.

James whispers sweet nothings and reassurances to the man he rocks slightly. His grip over Q tightens bit by bit for every moment that passes without any signs of Q’s stopping. Every so often, he kisses the top of Q’s head, other times Q’s temple. It becomes akin to clockwork for a moment as James does this to his Quartermaster continuously.

Until Q pushes himself off of James, wipes his face, and retains the indifferent cool mask he usually wears in running ops. Both men stand straight without breaking James’ hold on Q.

Q clears his throat, “Apologies, 007. A small moment of weakness, nothing more. I’d still be capable of doing my job.”

“Your abilities are never in doubt, Q. What I’m worried about is you. Please tell me you’re going to be alright.”

“As I told you, Bond, I’m –“ Q’s voice breaks and he quickly amends his statement, “I _will_ be fine, James. Now you need to get a move on. Too much precious time has already been wasted. And you’ve let Dr Swann wait for you long enough.”

“Time for you, Q, is never wasted.” James permits himself one last kiss on Q’s temple. He lingers just a bit over Q’s ears, “I need you to promise me something.”

“What is it this time, 007?”

“Promise me you’ll arrive back at London _safe_.”

“I really can’t guarantee you that.”

“Just promise me.”

“I promise that I will do the best I can to return home as safe as possible. You be careful, too, yeah?"

“Of course, Q. I’ll come back for you. I’ll always come back. _Always._ ”

These words were used to be uttered in James’ mind only in bitter tones. Now, though, he says them with so much love and promise, in hopes that they will reverberate into Q’s bones so that the man will never forget them.

What follows after is what appears to be just like any other mission.

Only this time he’s taking extra measures to keep his promise to Q. After that one shared moment with his Quartermaster, James knows that something in their relationship has shifted. They’re going to have to talk soon. There will be changes and James will make sure that he’ll be there to smooth things through. Q is much too precious for James to tread on this callously.

He just needs to survive his psychotic step-brother and he could go home.

Two explosions and a helicopter crash later, Bond is faced with a choice. To kill or not to kill. Bond barely sees M’s arrival at one end of the bridge. They did it, then. _Q_ did it, just like how James knows he can. Pride swells on James’ chest, but he’s careful not to let it show on his face. It’s not over yet. Not until Franz is accounted for.

Back to his dilemma. To kill or not to kill. He would be doing the world a favour in ridding it of one more scum. But that will gain satisfaction only in Franz, who will think he’s proven that Bond is nothing more but a killer. It will also certainly not help them containing SPECTRE.

And the paperwork will be _horrendous_.

No. He’d rather spend his following nights with Q, preferably in bed, rather than spend it filing paperwork for the extra-judicial execution of a supposedly-dead step-brother in front of numerous witnesses. Right, no.

With his mind made up, Bond ejects the magazine out of his gun without breaking eye contact with Franz. He tells him that has run out of bullets and turns his back on him.

He goes to the end of the bridge where Madeleine stands and tells her that he’ll take her somewhere safe.

After that, then he can finally go back home.

 

\--

 

Q terminates Nine-Eyes _somehow_ and he couldn’t help but think that he deserves a holiday.

Mr Denbigh dies rather anti-climactically shortly right after. And then an explosion from the old MI6 building happens. A helicopter crashes in Vauxhall Bridge. _And oh my goodness, is there no end to this madness?_

Q fights his way through the crowd that formed on the mouth of the bridge and he immediately regrets it.

There he sees M putting handcuffs on Mr Oberhauser. And behind them, on the other end of the bridge, he sees Dr Swann walking away with James. Hand in hand. With his James.

Well, _clearly_ not _his_ James.

And it feels like all of Q’s soul is leaving with the pair.

 

\--

 

James’ soul sings when he finally arrives home.

It took Bond about three days before he’s satisfied with Madeleine’s arrangements. He wanted to finish quickly but he made a promise to her father and he roped her back into this life. The least he could do is to make sure she’s absolutely safe.

“I guess this is goodbye then, James.”

“You have to understand, Madeleine, that –“

“Oh hush, James. I didn’t before, but now I can see it. You chose that life, not because you had no other choice, but rather that’s just how you _want_ to live your life. Maybe your reason for staying is your loyalty to the crown or maybe because of your friends. You surround yourself with people who you trust and they trust you. You aren’t alone and you’re happy with your life. And of course, there’s a matter of your Q.”

Bond hums and thinks better than to refute Madeleine’s jibe about Q. She isn’t stupid, denying her allegations would be an insult to her intelligence. Instead, he smiles at the thought of his Quartermaster. “He is quite something, isn’t he?”

Madeleine gives him a sad smile, “Goodbye, James. I hope I never see you again.”

It’s six o’clock in the morning and it’s not surprising that their flat is quiet. Q is probably still sleeping in his room, the cats with him. He should be waking any minute now. James goes to the kitchen to get started with breakfast and does a double take when he sees Eve Moneypenny refilling the automatic cat-food dispenser.

“Fancy seeing you here this early in the morning, Eve.”

It happens too fast, one moment Eve is looking at him with wide eyes, the next she’s punching him in the nose.

“What the buggering fuck are you playing at, James?”

“Good morning to you, too,” James says as he pinches his nose.

“We thought you’d _gone_.”

“What? Like gone- _gone_?”

“Yes, James. _Like gone-gone_ , you five-year-old twat _._ How could you do that to _Q_? How could you do that to your _soulmate_?”

“What?” Eve is swatting his shoulders while talking. That last one made him stop deflecting them.

“I kept my mouth shut for the past _thirteen months_ because the both of you are raging idiots who shut out any relationship with the mere mention of soulmates. So I let you both figure it out _yourselves_. Let you be soulmates without the label or anything. But this stunt is the final straw, Bond. You have to get your head out of your arse _this instant_. You can’t keep abandoning Q.”

At this point, Eve has stopped hitting him and rested on the edge of the kitchen countertop. A million thoughts run through James, all leading to one single truth. _Q is his soulmate_.

“Eve,” He says very carefully, “what are you saying?”

“What I’m saying, Bond, James Bond, is that Q is _Lucifer_ and shame on you for turning your back on him.”

“I wasn’t going to leave him, Eve. How can you think that? How can _he_ think that? I was just making sure Madeleine was safe. I was going back. _I am back_.”

“We didn’t know that, James. You aren’t exactly forthcoming with any of your plans.” Eve sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “What’s done is done, we can’t change it now. But you have to make it up to him.”

Eve grabs his right shoulder and pushes him out of the kitchen. She doesn’t stop until he’s out of the flat. He turns to her with a confused look, which she replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Q hasn’t gone home since you left. You have to go and save him from himself. I’ll make sure the cats are happy so that they won’t disturb you later. And James, please don’t cock this up.”

 

\--

The car lift whirs to life and Q is so done with his life.

Who the ever-living fuck is twat enough to use the car lift as an entrance to Q-Branch? Who takes in delight with all things ostentatious and obnoxious?  Who has the gall to strut his ungrateful piece of shit, and announcing it quite loudly, at half-past six in the bloody morning?

“Bond?”

Yes because, of course, it’s _him_.

“What are you doing here?”

Q wants to lecture him about how it’s rude to wake the whole city just so he can rub it in Q’s face about how easy it is to break into Q-Branch using the car lift, maybe take a car while he’s at it. But what he blurts out next is equal parts bitter and angry.

“I thought you’d gone?”

He moves to stand up from where he’s sitting, but Bond is suddenly in front of him. Q startles back into a sitting position with Bond looming over him. Bond bows slightly and he’s slowly closing the space between them.

“I will never leave you, my dear Lucifer.”

 

\--

 

And so this is how it ends, or starts, however you would consider it.

They’re taking a well-deserved day off, lazing about Luke’s bed – well it’s James’ now, too, he supposes. Sunlight goes through between the blinds and Luke bathes in it. It lights up the edges of Luke’s brown curls that crown his head into a halo. He looks beautiful and James kisses him just because he can.

“You know, your name suits you, my little morning star. You look like Heaven.”

Luke smiles. “Meanwhile yours doesn’t suit you at all. Did you know James means ‘supplanter’ or ‘he who follows?’ Fat load of rubbish I say.”

“Starlight, I would follow you to the ends of the Earth.”

Luke lets out a short chuckle, “Good thing I don’t really care much for the ends of the world as you say. I’m perfectly content here in my bed.”

“Would you be so averse to the thought of making this permanent?”

Luke raises an eyebrow in a challenge, “I would’ve thought this is already a permanent endeavour, 007?”

“Of course I’m going to love you for forever already, sunshine. What I meant is waking up in my arms every morning.”

“James, you don’t mean?”

“I had the right idea six and half years ago, turns out I just had the wrong Lynd back then.”

“You don’t have to James. I know how much you love your job.”

“You know,” James pushes an errant lock of hair off of Luke’s face, “I was going to resign after Skyfall. Do you know what changed my mind back then? You.” James kisses Luke’s forehead.

“I wanted to be close to you,” A kiss on Luke’s left eye, “to protect you,” on the right, “to take care of you.” On Luke’s nose.

James holds Luke’s eyes with so much intensity as he continues the shocking confession. “I needed the excuse to do so, so I kept my job. Now that I’m allowed this? I can love you without the exhausting demands of my job.”

“Oh, James.”

“Let me do this for you, Lucifer. For me. For _us_.”

“Whatever you want, James. I’ll support you. Well, anything that doesn’t involve any explosions.”

They fill with so much happiness that they hold on to each other tightly and kiss like there’s no tomorrow.

Their moment gets interrupted though by a shrill ring of a call. James answers it with a flat “Bond.”

Bond lets out a few _yes, sir_ s and finishes the phone call with an _understood_. Bond gets off of Luke and starts to get dressed.

“Well, retirement is going to have to wait. Franz has finally given up a name: Emilio Largo and M wants us to check in. What say you, my dearest Q?”

“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we get our happy ending, I guess.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's done? You made it to the end? Are you for real???
> 
> I know what you're thinking, indulgent fic is indulgent. I think most of this work's content is just due to my mind's incessant aching for doing scientific calculations in lieu of actual descriptions. So there's a lot of numbers there, doesn't it? Timestamps, dates, and of course the thing about the free fall metaphor. I hope they didn't bore you much.
> 
> Thank you so much for taking a chance on this but humble work. You can be off and be on your way to reading more fics. Or you could talk to me in the comments below! I would like to hear from you.


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